48 Hours

Social Entropy: The Eventual Heat Death of My Ability to Talk To People

2011-06-15T23:22:00.000-07:00

God, that's a long-ass title.

There are many things I don't fully understand. Among them lies a good ninety percent of physics, and firmly nestled within that region lies entropy, and the related supposition the heat death of the universe. Without asking anyone to read those (lord knows I can't stomach anything that dense), the long and short of it is that some very smart people have taken the property of heat distributing evenly within a system and taken it to the mind-blowing, horrifying extreme, that is, they've decided it means we're all going to die and the universe will become a very static, very cold place.

Now, I've never given two shits about any apocalypse theory, mostly because the scientists keep slapping calmingly large numbers on them, and I can't be bothered to worry about the fate of my great-great-great-great-hyperion-super-grandchildren (and the rapture and all those like it make me laugh). The point of that whole entropy bit then, in addition to providing me with what I believe is the longest title to date, is to note that systems have a tendency to reach equilibrium, in which everything has already been distributed and there's no more reactions to go bang! and make a bunch of high schoolers care about science for however short a time period.

I was thinking about this, and Facebook. And therein lies the connection. Facebook is the cancer that is killing my ability to hold conversations.

Think about it. A conversation can, if you're of a pocket-protector-wearing sort of mentality, be related to entropy. One person has information that the other lacks (unbalanced system). The information is shared (reaction, the spreading of heat, entropy), and the people are, with regards to that information, equal (balanced system). So to put it in less dense terms, conversations are fueled by an unequal spread of information, and the conversations themselves are the rectification of that.

Now, look at Facebook. With a few clicks, you can bring yourself up to date on the approximated life of (in my case) /hundreds/ of people, at least some of whom you interact with regularly. Suddenly, they don't need to tell you anything. They're removed from the equation. They have nothing to say to you, because any news they may have had is old news by the time they're talking to you.

So while before, you could greet a person and swap stories of all the chicks you heard Anthony was banging, now it's redundant, as you both read Anthony's hilarious statuses about his furious intercourse (because it's a great word, that's why) with not only your mother, but your sister as well. Sure, there are other conversational options, but it's hard to keep an exchange solely abstract. The human experience relies pretty heavily on (shocker) experiences, and anything that takes away from the proper enjoyment of them (read: gloating after the fact) is something that we ought to tread carefully with, to say the least. Because if the men in lab coats are to be believed, if we don't, we'll eventually stop talking forever and freeze to death.

Or something. (What was that about arguments from analogy being inherently flawed?)

Of course, I might as well title this post a lesson in hypocrisy and self-contradiction, because I'll acknowledge here that a) I still use Facebook in spite of this and b) there are other things to discuss (though like I said, they're not a full replacement).

So what say you, readers? Am I blowing this out of proportion? Should we kill Mark Zuckerberg? Will anyone even fucking read this?

Answer at least some of those, with any luck, in the comments.

P.S. Still totally on hiatus, this just felt like it needed to be said.

On the Lack of Things to Write About

2011-01-30T11:15:00.000-08:00

Maybe that's ironic. The lack of inspiration is a source of inspiration? I'm hard-pressed to call it either way.

But whatever. I'd /really/ like to write again, but I've barely got the time now, and with my joining track soon, I'll have even less time soon. I thought I'd explain, then, why I'm on vacation.

Look at my old posts. If they were music, they'd be punk. They're about discontent, anger, and (in some cases) depression. I've run out of things to be angry about, you see. "But wait," my inner cynic sings, "there's no end of things to be mildly angry about." Well that's true, sourceoflikehalfmyproblems, (that's his full name) I've stopped coming into contact with them. Not fully, of course, but I no longer find "oh em gee I luv mah gurlzzz" at the top of my Facebook feed, formspring has been beaten back to the unholy depths of hell (from my perspective, anyway), and I've stopped taking calls from my psychotic fucking exes.

Of course I still run into the fucking hipsters, casuals, zealots, and Shannon occasionally, but not enough that I can get past my self-mandated fuckhuge post length.

And yes, there are plenty of funny things to write about yet, but I wrote a post about some crap on facebook or another lately, was about to post it, and then realized it was a complete rehash of earlier facebook posts. Such things happen when you write really long posts, but that puts me at a disadvantage now, because, as I've noted to everyone each time it's brought up, I'm all juiced out.

I might do guest posts from time to time on Justin's blog, though, that'd be pretty neat. He's great, by the way, check it out.

That aside, I'm on vacation for, well, assume forever, because it's gonna be a while.

An Explanation

2010-07-19T00:08:00.000-07:00

Or two, or maybe three, depending on how this goes.

First, the last post wasn't going to be a short-ass little thing. I was going to re-write an impromptu speech I gave to several women in the wee hours of the morning as part of a long campaign to get them shirtless. It didn't work. However, as I was writing it, I got up to say something to Chris, and Conor and Justin grabbed my laptop, wrote the last three words of the last post, and published it. I suppose that's my fault. I sort of explained it on facebook, my bad.

Anyway.

I've been gone for a few weeks, and it seems almost no one had any idea where or why. Contrary to some rumors, NASA did not, in fact, seize me and put me together with several attractive women as part of a mission to bring hawtness to the stars, but instead I was staffing (volunteer-style) at Wente Scout Reservation.

So how'd it go? Well, I was disrespected, disliked, liked, still not respected, trusted, hit on, slapped in the face by strokes of luck and my ability to take advantage of them, and, in the end, given something which many of my contemporaries only dream of. But I'll get to that later. Maybe.

Look, I was a CIT. That meant I was the lowest staff position there, and so, fittingly, I got the shit jobs. Like gate duty. Gate duty is the hellish spawn of safety and customer service, which meant that I, respectively, was hated by everyone and hated everyone. I mean, my job was to make sure a bunch of twelve year olds didn't forget their tags when entering the waterfront, to make sure they put them up, and to make sure they took them down again. I also had to deal with them whining as they showed up half an hour early and whined as they were forced to stay outside.

I was nicknamed 'Sunshine' by one camper, because I was sick for literally all but four days of my experience, and I had to get up before the sun did. As a result, I was cheery and pleasant all day. Also, my tongue is bleeding from all the sarcasm. Seriously, though, Sunshine. I sort of wanted it to stick. I did get to be a lifeguard, though, and some of the scouts weren't half bad. I was respected by them, because we staff have a magical freaking aura making us magical and amazing because of our job. It's neat.

Some of the highlights of my trip include whitewater kayaking, jumping off a thirty-foot rock into the water, twice, screaming, swimming in a lake at one AM, shooting archery, shirtless, at two, making out, doing other things I can't discuss, doing other, even dirtier things that I /really/ shouldn't even mention, riding in vans, playing with butterfly knives, going to drive in movie theaters, playing love doctor again, and wearing seven pairs of boxers for three weeks without doing laundry once. I had four shirts the entire time, as well. Also, there are only three sentences in this paragraph.

I also gained a friend with benefits, lost one, lost the other, gained one back, gained another, and forgot the other as I left knowing they were totally okay with me doing so. (I lost the other one, too, for good reason.)

I got into Magic cards, as well. It's a fun game. I had my love of techno and dubstep rekindled, and I spent three weeks gaining an amazing tan and more memories than I could have thought possible. Weirdly enough, I also had two out of body experiences, both of which lasted less than a second and make me think of Fight Club every time I remember them. Which reminds me, me and a guy roughed around, and he could barely touch me. Martial Arts training rocks.

So that's where I was for three weeks. I love you all. Comments, questions, flames for doing a journal post?

Go nuts, people.

On the Injustice of the Word 'Slut'

2010-07-16T01:06:00.001-07:00

I'm a fairly opinionated man, it's true. I'll be the first to admit I feel strongly about things I care about (lol, redundancy), and one of those things is sexuality.

One of my biggest problem is derp derp derp

Dear Readers,

2010-06-18T17:29:00.000-07:00

Happy July 11th!

It's not July 11th? I'll just leave this up until I'm right, then.

P.S. Props if you know what this is from. Read that for a while.

Again, I Should Be Doing Math-Related Things

2010-06-10T19:47:00.001-07:00

I'm really bad at the studying bit, apparently.

To the point:

"Copy this into your status and see what people rate you ;(1)Crazy (2)Wish we went out(3) Talkative(4) Sarcastic (5) Love-able (6)Sexy (7)Strong (8)Dumb (9)Spoiled (10)Mouthy (11)Wild (12)Goofy (13)Funny (14)Awesome (15)Amazing (16) Beautiful (17)Cute (18)Drama queen (19) Best-friend (20)Want to get to know you better. Rate me(:"

Halley, one of my favorite (read: few) readers, sent me This fucking hilarious article recently, and since then I've been thinking about how awesome it was, and how in the hell it could've possibly reminded her of my terrible writings. God, the writer is a comedic genius. And when I saw the crap posing as the second paragraph on my facebook homepage today, I thought, "Shit, look, another way to not study!"

So here I am. And in light of the fact I've re-read To the Contrary, Anon like, fifteen times this week, I'm going to rock out a point-by point rebuttal of that cliche crap.

Before I go any farther, you should know that despite my death-grip-strength embrace of technology, I'm sort of old fashioned in some ways. I still use proper grammar, I refuse to acknowledge the existence of abbreviations in everyday speech, and I hate talking about anything of importance in any other medium than face-to-face. So know that that'll be one of the biggest problems I have with this from the start.

[(1)Crazy] Alright, insanity. Thing is, they don't mean crazy as in schizo'; they mean crazy as in the kind of crazy guys talk about when they say it as a part of their ideal girl, that is, some high amounts of energy whenever they want it. So criminal misuse of one term, check.

[(2)Wish we went out] Oh, shit. This is sooooo too early in the list. Remember a fucking paragraph ago, when I said you shouldn't say anything of importance in any other medium than face to face? Well, shit. You're so fucking wimpy you're telling someone you like them via fucking FACEBOOK COMMENT. God, you suck so hard you could keep up with your mother.

[(3) Talkative] I think you're talkative. What the fuck do you say to that? You can't turn that into a joke, it's just a kind way of saying you never shut the fuck up. And like those douchebags on formspring, you're probably just as bad. God, I hate formspring. And idiots who emulate it on facebook.

[(4) Sarcastic] I absolutely love this one. It's definitely not an opening for a long-ass conversation where everyone is sarcastic and it's so horribly unfunny that I can't even rock out the four or five sentences I usually put down.

[(5) Love-able] I could write this bit entirely about that goddamn hyphen. Why do you need it? What's wrong with writing loveable? For that matter, why are you writing it in the first place? Why can't you say you want to ask them out, it's halfway to the same thing only this is slightly more acceptable for the rejected creeper that follows around the kind of whore who posts this as their status to say, even though it's still creepier than fuck.

[(6)Sexy] Okay, here's where the whore-dom really takes over. Sexy? Really? If you're asking people if you're sexy, chances are you're a whore. No seriously, you /never/ see non-whores do this. Except jokingly, and even then it's kind of whore-ish. Fucking whores, they were supposed to stay on formspring.

[(7)Strong] Man whores need not ask. They already take fourteen steroids and go to the gym and think they're so fucking boss. Or they're asking about it emotionally, which probably means they're the kind of guy who wears shirts that he hates to be 'ironic' (which it isn't), and plays bass in a band which is, like, 'totally about to get a record deal because my uncle knows this one guy...', and in which he does backup vocals for the songs he co-wrote about how much he hates his fast-food job which he's stuck in because he failed high-school because he didn't try because he was 'too special' for school, and 'no one understood' and... fuck, you get the point. Emo hipsters. I hate them, and they're the kind of person who would ask this.

[(8)Dumb] You post this on facebook. Where people who are your 'friends' can reply. Why would any of your friends say you're dumb? I mean, if you're posting this, no shit you are, but if they're your friend, they probably are too.

[(9)Spoiled] You have the time and money to invest in a computer to have a facebook... you're upper middle class or at least middle middle... (true middle?) You could be well-adjusted, but you're probably the kind of whore who cries when she gets the wrong flavor latte at fucking starbucks with her parents' credit card.

[(10)Mouthy] Didn't we already go over talkative? Unless this only means you use your mouth frequently, which, if you're posting this, you do.

[(11)Wild] There is absolutely no chance that anyone with a facebook is in any way fucking awesome enough to be truly wild... present company excepted, no shit.

[(12)Goofy] No. You're a whore. Whores are /not/ goofy. Similarly, goofy is not a whore.

[(13)Funny] No, you're not. I promise you this. If you were, you wouldn't be posting some [whore-esque] chain status, you'd post something witty. And probably referencing a modern issue. And no, that one shitty joke you made about being hungover does /not/ count.

[(14)Awesome] Whores are only awesome in bed, and even then, only before you count how many STDs you get from her. Fuck, man, if you're awesome you know it, I promise you. You're just awesome like that.

[(15)Amazing] Why be so goddamn redundant? See the paragraph before this one.

[(16) Beautiful] You're not. Insecure girls are, at best, mildly attractive. But girls who obsess over the b-word wear too much fucking makeup.

[(17)Cute] While there are /some/ differences between this and sixteen, I'll note that only intelligent, non-whorish individuals can appreciate it. It's like asking a duck to do your homework, it all ends up in court.

Wait, what?

[(18)Drama queen] You're posting this. You're insecure as to your image. You no doubt go out of your way to preserve one, which means you take too much interest in school events and how people perceive acts at said school events, but you think you're a unique butterfly, so to prove it to yourself, you do crazy shit, but it's all pointless because by now, you're such a drama queen other drama queens resent you for it.

[(19) Best-friend] So, hyphen, we meet AFUCKINGGAIN. Does anyone ever really need to say this? It's blatantly obvious, even to whores like you.

[(20)Want to get to know you better.] No, you don't, you want to get close so you can smell their hair like a fucking stalker does. I promise you, the only person to comment this would be a stalker. You're making an opening for freaks here. What the fuck?

In summary: only whores post this. Don't be a whore, [but still score], rock on, and comment like a motherfucker.

And anyone who posts numbers will get lolz, then their throat slit.

2010-06-07T09:54:00.001-07:00

"Jessica, harden your nipples. We're going to battle!"

Jeff, The Incredibly Cool Learning Skeleton

2010-06-01T18:49:00.000-07:00

[His full title describes how awesome I am, actually, but that's because the guy isn't a half-bad wingman at goth bars.]

[semi-funny stuff is in normal text, red is boring moral because I wrote this for a school assignment.]

It's a point of pride with me that I have quite a few friends. Between Chris, Scott, AJ, Andrew, Jessica, Katie, Gabby, Tarra, Stephanie, Mark, Jon, Alex, John, the other Alex, Justin, Conor, and a few dozen more people I could name, I really shouldn't have to spend my day with, say, a dead body in order to not be alone. Unfortunately, I'm a terrible planner, and such a day came where I couldn't do anything with anyone, and was as such forced to haul a dead body out of a shed we have out back and spend the day with it. I was firmly under the assumption that this dead body would be a pretty cool character, for a few reasons. Let me talk about how cool this guy seemed to be.

Our society would have it that skinny is 'in'. Well let me tell you, this guy brought a whole new meaning to the phrase, "skin and bones". I mean, he didn't even have skin, just bones! Now that's skinny. He didn't say much, either; a very stoic fellow, disillusioned by years of incredibly cool acts, no doubt. He was so cool, the whole time I was hauling him out of the shed he didn't say a word. Not the best conversationalist, but a pretty cool guy all the same (maybe even because of that). Between his stoicism and his nearing-on-terrifyingly-thin body, I could tell from the start he was a very cool character.

So, I hauled him out of the shed, dusted him off, splashed him with water for no readily available reason, dried him, threw him in the car, and the skeleton (who I named 'Jeff' after the comedian Jeff Foxworthy) and I were off on our merry way. Jeff and I first stopped at the park. Usually, when friends and I go to Arbolado, we have a nerf war, play hide-and-go-seek, or just run around the play structures like we're five. Well, Jeff didn't turn out to be so good at nerf wars, was terrible at hide and go seek, and I'm not sure he even tried to run around when I suggested it. I was dissapointed, I thought that such a cool customer as Jeff might enjoy a bit of foolery. He was pretty serious, though, so I decided to go somewhere more serious but also fun: the mall.

We got a ride to Sun Valley, and I pulled Jeff out of the car as usual. I took just two steps when Jeff collapsed next to me. He just laid there, on the ground, ignoring my every plea. It turns out Jeff was 'too cool' for the mall. I was fairly fed up at this point. So I took Jeff by his sun-bleached, bony arm, and dragged him to a bench. Once we were at the bench, I proceeded to explain to Jeff that while I thought he was a pretty cool guy, I thought it'd be best if we went our seperate ways. He and all of his other serious, "cool", dead friends could do their thing, and my friends and I would have fun and not worry about what people thought. Jeff sort of nodded at the end, so I knew he got my message. With that, I left him there on his park bench, to the tune of the usual whispers of confusion and interest and the screams of terror that accompanied Jeff's presence.

I learned a lot in my day with Jeff. I learned that his outward, "cool" appearance had little influence on what a boring guy he turned out to be. No matter how skinny and stoic he is, he just wasn't fun, and that wasn't something that could be made up for. I learned that the inside, how people feel, and what they do, is far more important than how "cool" someone looks. I learned this because his awesomely skinny and stoic exterior did nothing when he wouldn't run with me at the park or even enter the mall.

I think I'm now more prone to judge people once I get to know them, not just after I see them. That said, I do sometimes still face that challenge, as people can appear quite two-dimensional. It's simply a fact of life, however, that people are not. Many people I thought air-headed and inconsistent turned out to merely be projecting a happy image while deep down they were complex, often sad, people. It's what's inside people, deep down, even in the marrow (for Jeff, especially), that's important, and it's especially important to remember that instead of judging people to be only skin-deep.

In Defence of [Moderate] Sagging

2010-05-24T19:49:00.000-07:00

//written in letter form, to present to offending parent for bothering you about having your pants a few inches below your waist.

Dearest Mother and/or Father,

I see you have taken offence to my style of dress. I've prepared this letter for your convenience, so you might understand that what I'm doing is not, in fact, "idiotic", as you put it, but in fact a logical decision to alter my appearance for the betterment of my social standing.

Allow me to explain. You once had a job, if you do not currently. While working, you no doubt dressed sharply to impress your coworkers and, more importantly, your superiors. Few would wish to work with a slob, correct?

Before you say that's exactly why I need to change, allow me to note that I'm not the first, nor certainly the last, teenager to do this. Things have changed since you were my age. The phrase "horn-dogging" no longer refers to sex, nor anything at all, and man has invented fire. Similarly, wearing the top of your pants an inch or three below the waist is no longer the act of a slob, or a gangster, but indeed a socially conscious person.

I normally find it distasteful to use the word "conform" but that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm observing the (in your eyes, slightly odd) social rules of my generation in order to yes, conform, in order to put others my age at ease. They are, normally, slightly put off by the massive intelligence (which I got from you) and this act relaxes them, allowing them to have a more fulfilling and happy day.

So, in summary, while you may view my pant height as rather unintelligent, it is in fact a carefully-calculated, logical act to... oh my. You pulled my pants up and left before I got through the second sentence.

Oh well. [Moderate] Sagging for life!

I Should Actually Be Doing My Math Now.

2010-05-20T22:24:00.000-07:00

But honestly, all those "LoveGivesMeHope" Groups make me want to puke.

Not just because of their flagrant disregard for the space key, but also because I'm a cynic.

For those who don't know, a cynic isn't the biggest fan of people. We're more like... anti-fans. To be blunt, I see you, my immediate assumption is that you're a scumbag. It's nothing personal, but really, it's just how I see the world. You can prove to me you're not, but when I see a dude asking for something, I assume it's for his own selfish ends. I'm an ass for assuming you're all asses, I know. But really, if we're talking about farces, can we stop joining those sexist facebook groups?

Which brings me back to my original point: those groups you're liking, the ones about a boy playing with a special needs kid, or the boy loving his girlfriend? Those make me sick, please stop.

Really, have you considered, cynicism aside, how obnoxious you're being? I have to see a dozen paragraphs that people are 'liking' each time I boot up that homepage when I should be doing my math. That's a dick move.

There's something worse, of course. [marvin voice: there always is.] There's a group now: "I'm awesome. I'm awesome. I'm awesome..." On and on. For about fifteen page-downs, it continues. I've made it my mission to stab whomever I see liking that shit, and I will do so with a rusty shank.

So in short: don't support those things. They're evil in likable form.

Journal Post

2010-05-18T19:25:00.000-07:00

Why? Because when a chick throws an inflated condom at a dude, it warrants my least favorite type of post.

So let's see, how did this start?

I was chillin [out maxin', relaxin' all cool] with my peeps at lunch, as I am wont to do, when we began discussing sex. And sex related things. While Chris and I argued that no dude would ever jack off with a condom on, given how much feeling is lost, someone (read: Katie or Jessica, my goddamn terrible memory has left this detail out) pulls out (BEST. CHOICE. OF. WORDS. EVER.) a condom.

Oh condom, how do I describe thee? Let me count the ways, I love thy intense redness, it makes the a-blush cheeks of the blushiest blushing bride look pale in comparison. I love thy lubrication, which makes me realize what a fucked up paragraph this is. I love thy wrapper, which joyfully exclaims, "Proper attire is required for entry," and causes the greatest lulz. But most of all, I love thy birth-controlling powers of stopping jizz, which lets me bang the flyest bitches and get them totally preggers.

While we lol'd at this condom, as you laugh now at my fucktacularly fucked-up paragraph, Rosemary (or /someone/) took it out, and as we threw it at each other, someone grabbed it. And while my memory fails as to many details of this event (indeed, even the order of throwing and this next bit) I do remember who took it, and blew it up. Like a balloon. I must say, I was quite surprised when Rosemary did this, and I found it, well, fucked up and hilarious. [stop at the first page. This is your only warning.]

So, we yelled about that for a bit, then we decided to give it to someone. In light of our group's weird-ass obsession with Ian, we decided to have Rosemary run over there and throw it at Ian. She did.

Oh god, did he freak out. [And so did his group. I'm pretty sure we're no longer welcome there.] Following this, we booked it to where Katie and Jessica had remained sitting. I did a fantastic slide-in landing. The others tried, and sort of failed. Felt good, man. We then lol'd about this all day.

So now I blog, because I'm in a fantastic mood, and this shit was pretty fuckin' cash.

Also, my sister and mom just got back from the east coast. Hurray!

I Started to Write an Anniversary Post

2010-05-09T21:04:00.001-07:00

But then I realized, fuck it. I want to know what /you/ think.

This blog is about you guys. I want all of my readers to comment, and I want you to say, honestly, your favorite and least favorite thing about this blog.

And then you can yell at me for copping out of an anniversary post.

OH. MY. GOD.

2010-05-07T00:26:00.001-07:00

IT'S THE YEAR-AVERSARY!

HOORAY, MOTHERFUCKERS!

Real post coming... saturday? Sorry, crazy motherfuckily busy week.

You Know, I Once Wrote the Better Part of A Post On Lies

2010-04-28T16:04:00.000-07:00

But today, I'm not going to complete it. I just want you to remember something they told us as kids. Remember when we all thought our parents would always stay together and we'd never have our hearts broken and none of us would ever turn to drugs or alcohol and we'd all be good looking and intelligent and in no way end up like those homeless people who we would see when we went to the city? We were taught this. We were taught, one way or another, that the world was nigh-on-perfect.

It used to be people with problems weren't the norm. That fucked up was quite the strange expression, and not because of the vulgarity, but because we didn't need such a phrase. We didn't have big problems when we were little, and no one would tell us about it. There's good reason for that: why end the fun early?

Everyone knew it would end, except for us. Our parents knew we'd have terrible events in our lives, so they had us live idealistic lives as long as we could. But look what it's like now? Family members with cancer, dead relatives, drugs, alcohol, oppression, hate, and I'm only exposed to the worse elements by friends. I honestly can't imagine what it's like to live the lives some people I know do. I respect them forever for what they soldier through. Some people deal with parents who hate them, violent parents, the ones who're never there, all kinds of terrible things.

It's hard to talk about these things. It is, really. I live a much better life than I could, I recognize that. As do a lot of people. The problem is some people won't admit that they have a need for support.

We have each other. We're here for each other. I'm nothing more than a crutch for you to lean on. Remember that, people. And don't praise me. Everyone has, at some point or another, been the crutch. You just need to remember to do so.

The sad part is that such an object as a crutch is necessary. (Not the physical object. The metaphor.) I mean, fuck. Look at all the shit people have to deal with. It's fucking heartbreaking. There's a reason you see so many people dealing drugs at high school. Because it's a violent climax for all that shit. And it just fucking strikes us, with hardly a warning in middle.

I wish I could write more. But what's the fucking point? All of you, each and every one, has dealt with shit. I may even have /been/ part of that shit for a time, and for that, I'm sorry. You all know what I'm talking about. That one thing that just makes you cry, whether it's over a lover, or someone dead, or hate and oppression, or someone who, as a result, you can't help but wish was dead. Maybe it's regret at something you did once, in the heat of the moment and the utter unpreparedness we all share when faced with said shit. Maybe it's something else destroying you from inside, or maybe it's something outside. I don't know, I can't know, because I have my own problems, luckily, I got off fucking lightly.

I'll happily be your crutch, however, because I know each and every one of you will now drift back to that piece of shit ruining your life.

And remember how I told you about that post about lies? That first bit /was/ the lie. That hopeless idealism that those in charge of us instilled in us. They painted the world a bright shade of yellow and told us it was golden. Fucking lying bastards. It's only now I've come to realize that that bright yellow was nothing other than the hateful bastards ruining people's lives pissing on the goddamn world.

Fuck it all.

Politics

2010-04-21T19:46:00.000-07:00

Because I'm really, really fucking tired of seeing that one line at the top of this page. And it's been a week. Again. Fuck.).

That said, I /finally/ got an idea for a post. It came to me while I was sitting in Spanish, reflecting on the lecture we'd received on the Vietnam war in geography the period before. I was thinking, as he talked about the whole commie north vs democratic south as an extension of US vs USSR (or CCCP if you feel like it) fight. Which got me thinking about politics, which I think about a lot.

Now, I don't want you to skim that last line. I theorize about the possibilities of a government-free state (anarchy) but then I always get to the enforcement of commonly accepted rules. You need a body to enforce that. Because BTECAR (Body That Enforces Commonly Accepted Rules) wasn't a catchy acronym, the guys in the PR department said, "Fuck it!" tossed some letters in the air and 'government' was born.

I always come back to that. There are a lot more complexities to government, but on the most conceptual level, I think one can agree that a government exists to keep the people living happy lives. Here, have some evidence.

Look at Karl Marx (writer of The Communist Manifesto, father of communism, most popular philosopher of all goddamn time) with his book, The Communist Manifesto, he laid down a system which is, on paper, utopia. You get what you need and you give away the extra. There's a committee who runs this shit, making sure everyone's happy. Good times, right? I'll get back to this.

Take whatever fucker invented Capitalism. You sell some shit, get some cash, and before you can say bitches n' hoes, you're buying shit and being like, "this is pretty dope". You're happy because you have money and probably a few hoes. You're happy, right?

Or my personal favorite (and philosophy): Utilitarianism. That mouthful can be oversimplified to this: "Do whatever the fuck you want, unless it harms others, but remember hurting yourself hurts the community, so don't be stupid." There's a lot more to it, but that's it. I'd agree the freedom to do the fucktons of shit that doesn't harm others is a nice thing to have. I'd be damn happy.

What I'm trying to get across here is half the crucial point of this post: Government exists to make people happy. (Disagree? Argue in the comments, but read the rest of this first.)

So I was thinking about that, and my thoughts drifted a bit to violence, as they're want to do. When you think about it, you get to the /other/ half of the crucial point of this post: Government exists to make people happy, but the wars that we fight over them don't make anyone happy. Rather than propagating Anarchy here, I'm saying think a bit about how much sadness politics has brought. It's kind of a farce:

All the deaths in the Vietnam war (which is measured in tens of thousands for the US /ALONE/) are because the Commie North invaded the Democratic South, and over the course of a decade, everyone went wild with the violence sticks and killed a metric fuckton of people. Why? Because the the Commies and the Democrats didn't agree on how to run shit.

How about every political assassination, ever? Murder murder murder, politics politics politics. Or all those who've died in riots, which rise whenever a stupid government herp derps their way through a stupid policy and the people herp derp their way into a big square where the police herp derp and herpa derpa derpa, /DEATH/.

This post is making it seem like I don't value politics.

Let me clear that up. I think politics are quite necessary in the way a flushing toilets are necessary. Yes, we could live without them, but most of us not very long (and those left, life would be shit. Get it? Shit? I'm not funny. ) I take a Utilitarian (protip: that's required fucking reading) stance, which is better explained there than it was a few paragraphs ago. I'll wait while you read that.

Really, this whole post can be summed up as such: Politics are a bitch (see: uncounted goddamn deaths via politics), but are a necessary evil, and they can be grandly improved by a certain version of leadership, which as a Utilitarian I'll say is utilitarianism. But it's important to have your own opinion (this post was almost about that), so argue the fuck out of this. Your political philosophy, why you grandly disagree with my general hatred of politics, why you're never reading this again because of this post, any fucking ideas on what the next can be, et goddamn cetera.

Also, a compliment would be nice.

2010-04-16T13:57:00.001-07:00

I miss talking... I'll do a post about it.

This May Seem Like an Innocent Explanation,

2010-04-15T22:53:00.000-07:00

But it's also a setup for constant referrals to my blog, and (as a more positive act, that is, one that might /improve/ some lives) draw attention to the Day of Silence, which might lead to more participators and in the long run (with a little luck) more gay rights. So what I'm doing here is posting for fucking JUSTICE.

[this bit was written last night. I'm not changing a single word.]

In other words, not at all what you're expecting.

Tomorrow, or today for when most of you will read this, is the day of silence. The National Day of Silence. With capital letters because it is, in fact, serious business. It's this rally-type thing where peeps across the country stay silent for a day to protest the abuse directed at the LBGT community. I feel strongly about gay rights (no shit, sherlock, look at the post below) and as such I'm participating.

Fucking awesome, let me tell you. You should too.

[here we go, post-day thoughts]

First off, it's still the day of silence. But I'm not seeing anyone for the rest of today (unknown if I'll leave my goddamn /room/) so I figured /fuck it/ I'm done for today. I love gays as much as the next guy, and anyone who knows me knows that I hate the /fuck/ out of the oppressive bigots apparently making up the majority of the state, but I needed to talk for my grandma's birthday. Fun times (read as: awkward. Whatever.)

ANYWAY, now that my silence is (officially) over, I'm posting some post-speakum impressions.

First off, there /were/ fun times. This wasn't a horrifyingly solemn event (or I'd have my ass kicked for saying no less than forty-three words today during my time), and playing charades /all fucking day/ is a blast. But no one understood me, so I wrote all over my arm. Also, communication through smiles and (dirty) looks (that's a song name waiting to happen) is more of a fucking blast. Interestingly enough, I also had two chicks in my lap today, and two more under my arms for extended periods of time. What a fucking awesome day. And I said less words than I use in a text.

There were some douchebags, of course. Like that dude in second period who had a problem with transsexuals, or people who didn't participate because of what we were protesting. Note that I'm not calling people who knew about it but didn't participate douchebags, just the ones who're bigots.

There were, however, way too fucking many heroes for my cynical mind to comprehend. I mean, Morise, this senior in Chem, spent time arguing with said douche who hated transsexuals because he's fucking awesome like that. Major props. And there were people who thought it was awesome that I was doing such a thing (albeit with some major slip ups), or the people who were going to participate but forgot about it, and all the people who didn't mind speaking to the dude who was (mostly) mute throughout the day.

Special shout outs to Chris, who miraculously understood like, everything I was saying, and Tarra, who still fucking owes me.

Talking is still wierd, yes. Like trying to jack off in public, it's awkward and forced, and often just doesn't finish. My words trail off halfway through my saying them. Tomorrow, I will mend that with a few million grunts (I'll be being beat up in a martial arts tourney I volunteered to dummy for. Ow. >.<. This isn't a journal bit, it's an explanation of why I can't late night effect the hell outta the whores post. Sorry, everyone. Tomorrow night, I swear.)

People admitted to feeling weird talking to me, since I could only really respond with nods, smiles, and hand gestures (until I invariably took out a piece of paper and a pen, which I lost). It made me wonder if a mute ever feels like this, wanting to respond but unable to. Which reminds me, all of you readers in my 6th period, who taunted me? You're all dead.

All in all, fantastic day. It was my first time in memory being a part of any kind of large, formal event that wasn't a fucking party, so it felt really good. I've had an itch to do some protesting recently, and this really helped with that. Good times. Maybe it's the chicks-in-my-lap feeling talking, but awesome day. Eddie is pissed at me for... things, but whatever, he'll get over it.

Now, comment, since /you lot/ (except Halley) didn't have to shut up all day (except fifth period. /FUCK/ fifth period).

PS (parentheses).

To the Contrary, Anon.

2010-04-07T21:53:00.001-07:00

Good day, readers. This is a unique post. See, an anon recently commented (link) on my homosexuality post, and I promised them an entire post as a rebuttal. The comment wreaks of Shannon (apologetic, angry, religious, and has this blog address? Shannon.) but I won't make any more references to that for the entirety of this post. We'll assume it was her friend from a while back (that anon who bashed halley, remember?). Unlike theirs, of course, this one is going to be coherent, readable, and correct.

What I did, as opposed to simply slapping them and getting on with my day, was spend the better part of an hour fixing their comment so it was readable, then issuing a point-by-point rebuttal in red. For clarity:

[Stupid comment.] [Admittedly slightly cruel rebuttal, but one with reason and logic behind it.] [Next stupid comment] [Next rebuttal.]

The entirety of what is to follow was drafted and written in under an hour, but it's not like it was hard to pick apart their logic. Major apologies if I offend any of you for bashing the bible, but know that it's simply how I feel about it and it's not something I look to shove in your face on a daily basis. I suppose it's how I treat my atheism, that is, while respecting other people's views.

Ok. So let's say I supported Yes on 8. Does that make me a homophobic? NO. Yes. You're taking away rights from someone because of who they are. That's oppression, or more simply, bullying. Bullying someone for who they are is called bigotry, or in this case, homophobia. It means that I believe that the definition of marriage is between a man and a woman. Does it mean that I don't think that gay people should have other legal rights? No. Actually, yes. An inch is as good as a mile, really. If they can't do everything you can, then you're better than they are. By taking away their ability to do everything can, you're trying to make yourself better. Does it mean that I have absolutely no tolerance for people that are gay? No. It would seem you don't, from those acts, but given my suspicion of who you are (and thereby knowing you, at least a while back) I'm willing to take you at your word and say you /do/ have tolerance. It does mean that I may have my opinions, like maybe I think that just because someone "comes out" doesn't mean they can go willy nilly and do whatever they want. Willy nilly and what? Get married, as a method of showing their commitment to their partner? No, god forbid the gays do that! Who said anything about going willy nilly? They just want to get hitched, get the fuck over it.Sure, there are lot of other things they go around doing other than prop-8 related things Bigots tend to not just do one thing, true. I'm shocked., and I'm not even talking about that now....actually I'm getting a little ahead of myself... I agree. You're far ahead of yourself. Given your ideas, you're about five, which puts you about ten years ahead of yourself. Get some education, and come back.

But guess what? Just because I don't support gay marriage doesn't mean I want to go throw rocks at them and bully them silly! As I've said, supporting taking away their rights /is/ bullying them, so why bother throwing rocks? You're already bullying them, why do it twice over? Who does that? Bigots. Wanting to stick with traditional marriage is OK. It isn't, actually, in this case, as you're acting like the two have to be mutually exclusive. I understand how people can think that I hate gay people. But guess what? I DON'T. Get that? I do not hate gay people. I recognize that you think you don't, but there's incredible evidence to the contrary. There. Now quit calling me a homophobe and get on with your lives. I don't even know who the hell you are. That'd make it really difficult for me to call you a homophobe. Well, not really. "That idiotic anon who posted on the homosexuality post is a homophobe (look, redundancy!) I love people. ALL PEOPLE. Lies. You're lying, here. You might think otherwise, but it looks like you're just another bigot (Whoa, I'm getting sorta worked up Hardly. Caps are just for emphasis, not necessarily to show that you're getting worked up. And besides, passion about something is a good thing, it can show that you have absolute faith in who you are. That's good, except when you're wrong.....sorry bout that... Don't be. Look at the one who edited everything you wrote as a rebuttal.) And I'm going to stick with my opinion, and you guys can sure as heck keep saying I'm an awful person, Believe me, we will, because you are. cuz' apparently you can do anything you want In that case, I'll be at your place in five to rape you. If I can do anything I want, I'm going to wreck you emotionally. . But just to let you know, maybe we as people should start having more tolerance for other people too. There's so much hippocracy here I can hardly even think of a word to describe it. I'll go ahead and leave it as hella. Hella hippocracy. You're preaching tolerance a paragraph after saying you support taking away other people's rights. Maybe we can tolerate that other people believe that a strong family is important, What you're trying to say here is that a family with two dads or two moms can't be strong. Says... who? You? God? That angry man on the street corner preaching the end is nigh? That's the stupidest thing I've heard since the sentence before it. that because I believe in traditional marriage, I am NOT stupid I think you're stupid for acting like it and gay marriage are mutually exclusive. I don't think you're stupid! You just disagree with me, I respect that. I respect you, you're just being wrong to a point where I think you're stupid. But I /totally/ respect you. Come on, those who're reading this guy's blog, you're flipping awesome! It took me like a minute to figure out what the fuck that sentence was supposed to be, but I don't disagree with that.

But maybe we need to tolerate those who maybe are voicing their opinion, Doesn't mean I can't disagree with it, does it? I'd tolerate you, but I'm not supposed to like bigots. Sorry. which I admit is in the minority of the opinion bowl most of the time. I tried, I swear to your god, but I could /not/ figure out what the hell an opinion bowl is. Since when does only the minority voice their opinion, though? And really, how did the bowl come to be involved? I believe that God created men and women for a reason. I don't believe in God, and I don't think we really have a purpose except living for each other. Which I've mentioned. That he created us. I don't have a problem with that, it's just not what I think. And you know what? No, what? I believe that God should be the one to draw the line, and not us. I'm an Atheist, so this sentence is about as not-how-I-think as is possible. But still: I'll go out on a limb and say you're christian. So you're taking your hints from god via the bible. The same bible that endorses slavery, and fails to mention rape in the ten commandments? That is sexist beyond measure? Yeah. Great book to take queues from. I don't have a problem with that, really I don't, until you start using it as a weapon against those who get the shaft in your beloved tome. I believe that as men and women we have free agency, but we also have consequences for what we do. So we have free choice, but there are consequences for our actions? My mind is blown, really. No shit, there are consequences. But what I think you're getting at is you think homosexuality is a choice, and that there should be consequences for that. It isn't. And there sure as hell shouldn't be a consequence for that, unless you okay me slapping your ass and telling you what to do because you're a woman. And I also think that maybe you don't want me to go all preachy on you, Too late. I went preachy on you, but I don't apologize for it. so I'll stop there. Thank your god.But don't go bashing on me because I believe in God, ok? I have never, ever bashed someone for their belief in god. I'll freely bash your holy tome, because it's racist, sexist, and homophobic, but I'll never bash you for having faith in a creator an afterlife. I did for a considerable amount of time, and I know it's comforting. I stopped believing in it, but I'm not going to give you shit about it. I mean sure you can, and you probably want to after everything that I've ranted about. No, I want to rant to you about what you ranted about. I bashed your tome a bit, though, just so you'll feel good for provoking me.

Just know that I do not hate gay people. Again, overwhelming evidence to the contrary. I have my opinion, Go ahead and have it, I just disagree with it. I noted why in red. There's a lot of red. I do not support gay relationships, I noticed. It's horrifyingly obvious. but I also don't yell and scream at them true, to my knowledge, but as I said, you want them to have their rights taken away? What kind of shit is that? Why bother yelling, you can just take away things that make their life enjoyable. about how much I don't support it. Then what the /fuck/ do you call this? I don't call them names, You don't need to. Take away their rights, that's plenty. they are people too, No shit. So why act like they aren't? Why act like they're people, just people who are below you? and we're being totally cliche. No, we aren't. It's called feeling passionately about something, which is good. Maybe passion blinded your eyes, so you couldn't tell how stupid you were being. But for the record, I believe in traditional marriage, I got that. Me too, but you can't have it be exclusively traditional. Just say the words: gay marriage isn't wrong. Now learn it, idiot. but I do not hate gays. With each sentence, you say otherwise. Why pretend? There. There? As in over there? As in, over there, where I left my brain so I could unthinkingly leave an unintelligent post in which I not only contradict myself, but I also insult gays dozens of times? Just thought I'd set the record there in a few thousand words. Rather, you fucked up the record. All the red is how much straightening it took. Jeebas. And I'm only goin' anonymous here cuz' I don't have any google account or blog press fancy thing. Utter bullshit, you even say so in the next motherfucking sentence. PLus, I know there's gonna be some argument here and I'd rather just state whatI believe and not have people mock me even more for it You said earlier, about a paragraph and a half earlier, that there are consequences for our actions. I guess I'll rely on your god for this on, or you can grow a fucking pair and admit who you are. If you're going to be stupid, at least admit who you are, otherwise it's practically an admission of idiocy. Which is really in tune with the rest of this post, so I suppose it fits. so.... Sorry to dissapoint. You have no idea how not disappointing it is. Rather, it's fantastic. You're a dream. A contradictory idiot who can't think coherently and makes grand assumptions which aren't true. The part that makes you so dreamy is you're preaching the other side of the argument. If you're going to take the wrong side, then do so quietly and let the good liars who make a little amount of sense (until one looks into what they're saying, of course.)

In summary, this anon is a contradictory idiot for saying they don't hate gays and then providing overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Let this serve as an example, readers, of what I do to those who are wrong. I'm only mean so long as they're stupid. So, I'm basically mean all the time, but I'm also right, so fuck your shit and comment the hell out of this thing.

Post One Hundred Ninety Jesus-Stabbing Nine. (Also, Formspring.DesperateHo)

2010-04-07T01:04:00.000-07:00

That I've written, anyway. There's something like 195 up. I think. One sec, checking. Nope, you lot have only seen 167. 168, counting this. Jeebas, I have a ton of drafts. Fuck 'em all.

Anyway, it's 1 AM and I just tore viral infections out of my finger. With my teeth (I'm not joking). Then I did some research and learned that I'm not supposed to dot hat. FFFUUUU- . Yeah.

Look, it's time to rant. About Formspring.Me.

Three weeks ago, even two, I suppose, if anyone had asked me if I'd heard of formspring I would've slapped them and told them that I never spoke of that one weekend in Vegas, because that's my default response for when you lot start babbling gibberish. You're all fucking nuts, so I have to do so quite often. No one questions it, interestingly.

To move on, I'd never heard of that shit. Then this one chick got one, Nicole Papineau, or at least she's the first I remember. I was talking to a dude who mentioned it, and said she always links it blah, blah, blah, we then went on to discuss more manly things. Such is life. Anyway.

So a week later, fucking EVERYONE has one. Stephanie. Tarra. Eddie/Mark/Dibs was going to, but I told him not to. Savior moment, I had a soul (it was the jazz, bro. Don't give me that look.) And now my friend Austin Burrel has one, Stephanie's gnome of a boyfriend (I kid, now stop yelling at your monitor) has one, I mean, HELL, peeps. What's come over you?

I get formspring. It's really easy. You get the chance to have anonymous people ask you all kinds of questions about your sex life, and you don't even really have to deal with them. That someone asks is enough, and your ego is fed. It's simple, it's vain, it's STUPID.

FUCK Formspring.

Also, be sure to ask me anything... in the comments, because I have a brain and so do you lot. But if you all go anon I'm going to laugh my ass off. Then be sad. D:

ADDENDUM TIME! :D

If you lot want to read this, it's going to pretend to be a little decent, ya know?

I hate formspring for more, I think. Not just for what it is, but for what it /isn't/. Bear with me for a moment.

I blog for a variety of reasons, chief among them that I get to be an arrogant bastard and you lot are too busy laughing to argue (I hope. Really, I hope this is still entertaining.) Also up there, though, after feeding my ego and getting chicks, is what it encourages: writing. And since you have to write about /something/, it encourages thinking.

I make it no secret that I hate stupidity. I have no problem with those who are mentally retarded, or have a legit excuse like that, but people who let themselves be stupid just pisses me off. Really, it does. They have plenty of brain to use, and they let the miracle of nature that is grey matter just rot in their heads. That pisses me off. Endlessly, it makes me rage. RAAAGEEE!

Formspring doesn't make you think. It makes you answer questions. "But Anthony," you say, after admiring my likeness, "couldn't that be a good thing? Couldn't formspring.me be a vehicle for making people question their beliefs, or challenge themselves? The anonymity could help people ask things they don't have the guts to do in person, as well."

Those are two separate problems I have with formspring.desperateho, and as such they get two separate paragraphs, respectively ordered.

Yes and no. The emphasis in that question is /could/. Yes, formspring.bloggerisbetter /could/ be a vehicle for deep thought and challenging questions. It /could/ be home to interesting debate, where a person is forced to defend themselves against a slew of inquiry. Let's be honest, though. It can be, it always will have the opportunity to be a home to deep thought, but it never, ever will be. It's human nature, I've ranted about it before. Though in this case, it's not a deep, interesting thing, the polar opposite: formspring.notforthosewithbrains will never, ever be home to deep thought because the people who inhabit it let themselves be stupid, and are as such incapable of said intelligent thought.

Also, anonymity is a double-edged sword. While it can give people courage, it's more often used as an excuse to dodge consequences for your actions. Imagine how much you could get away with if you couldn't be detected by anything. You were, effectively, invisible, untouchable, and security alarms didn't work on you or what you were holding. You would turn to theft, and you know it. Such is anonymity. That same indetectability, but on the interwebs. As such, on the interwebs it's used for general douchebaggery (and theft, to be honest. 4chan is probably responsible for more than a few thieveries.)

So what we're left with is a haven for douchebaggery and sex references. That's it. You go on a chick's formsping.idiocy, you see a few dozen questions about her bra size, and the rest are about sex. That's it. Douchebaggery is more limited, but it's there. Less so, but it's there. In summary, then, I hate formspring.fakevirgin for being a haven for idiocy and immaturity.

I Actually Wrote A Whole Post Yesterday / Music

2010-04-05T20:30:00.000-07:00

But it was done at two in the morning, so you can imagine the shitty quality. I should start a second blog for that kind of shit. Anyone agree/disagree/wanttoblowme?

Grossly inappropriate requests aside, I haven't done a legit post since all of Saturday. Being three whole days ago, it's time for another. besides, I'm sure all of you want me to stop being so damn mopey (apologies for that, but I do thank those few of you who still read for commenting).

As you might be able to tell from the ridiculously long title, this post is about music. Three paragraphs in, I'd like to get on with that.

Noise is hard to describe. Technically, all sound is compressed air, but the literal, clinical descriptions of things are often incapable of describing their true nature. Noise is... not quite music. It's close, but not quite, which is why I'm starting with it. Noise is sound that is meant for the background, and never more. It /is/ a background, something to simply be and fill up the room so it doesn't feel lonely (which, of course, my room never is, if you catch my drift. ;) ). Noise lacks the capacity to be focused on for more than the briefest periods of time, but is by no means insignificant. Music arose from noise, when people improved upon their hollowed-stick-whacking until it could be focused on and enjoyed for its beauty, its passion, its soul, even. From this difference, this line of eloquent complements that could go on forever, arose Music.

Music is noise the same way a square is a rectangle. That is to say, music can be used as noise as a square can be treated as a rectangle, but never vice versa. Well, not quite. What some consider noise others consider music (see, for example, dubstep), and that is crucial in understanding music. Music is a very individual thing. I do not share an exact taste in music with anyone else because I am not the same person as anyone else. Music speaks directly to one's inner self, even, with the most passionate music taken (like a drug, almost, I'll elaborate on that later) at the right time, to one's soul. For those of you with souls, at least (I only have a soul when I listen to soft jazz).

I'm listening to soft jazz right now, actually. I've mentioned it before, but I'll say it again: this jazz track, [protip: link, mofo] from some video game, I think, is one of the greatest pieces of soft jazz (blues?) I've ever heard in my life. EVER. This is because it relaxes me. It calms me and puts me in a fantastic mood, where I can forget being such a sadistic bastard and enjoy having a soul once more. (Orange soda has a similar effect on me, if anyone's wondering, that's part of why I drink it so much). Music can, even in those fancy Harvard (or some fancy college, I forget which) labs, have a profound effect on the human body. Seriously, some dudes in lab coats did some stuff and found out it speaks to you. Or something. I read the article waaaay back, so I don't remember (if I read it at all! Ha!) The point of this odd, rambling paragraph is that music speaks to you in ways even yours-silver-tongued-truly can't. And that's impressive.

I know you can't tell, but I just took a minute to re-read the status where you lot requested this. I do care. (Also, one day I'd LOVE to live-blog, where you people can watch me post. It'd be really fuckin' neat. Anyone agree? COMMENT.)

Music has, as my beloved big bro AJ (who may or may not read this anymore. Confuzzlement goes *here* ), two sides: Soul and Theoretical Complexity. Both are expressed incredibly well in the many forms of Jazz, in my opinion, moreso than anywhere else. I'll get to that in a bit.

Journal moment, bear with me: I was talking to Annette (who I think is still angry at me right now. Whatever.) on Friday. She was writing out some music in... music form. That kind with all the funny scribbles that represent half-notes and those circles that are really long and all those dashes /everywhere/. I can't read music, in case you hadn't picked up on that. Thing is, there's that, the numbers, and how each and every individual instrument is implemented (for example, in Dubstep, the bass (as in the electronic kind, not the four-stringed guitar) is used to keep the beat, and the drums aren't. This is very, very different than almost any style of music that involves the drums) are all there, fucking shit up. Music is complicated.

But as I said, music speaks to you. I mean, I've listened to music that perfectly fit my mood at the time (for example, thinking about girlfriend while 'Alive With the Glory of Love' played) and it was fucking euphoric. Not good, not great, EUPHORIC. Music does things to you you can't even imagine.

While I'm sometimes a fairly logical guy (see: why I became an agnostic atheist, winning at math/chem/life, knowing exactly how to do your mother), I'd have to concede that soul is more important than theoretical complexity when listening to music. There's no law, of course, that the two can't be intertwined, of course. Some incredibly powerful songs are very, very complex. And that just adds to the number of ways they can be enjoyed.

I wish you could tell, I just took a half hour break. Fun.

Remember earlier, I said music is a drug? Again, fairly journalistic bit to explain (yay! Empiricism!) I went, last summer, to a summer camp called Cherry Valley. Good times, then, what with Scuba Diving, candy, swimming, kayaking, shooting, et cetera, but I missed two things over the course of my weeklong stay: My then-girlfriend Devon, and music. See, I'd left my iPod at home. Which meant my only source of music was my buddy Francis's iPod, and I didn't find out about that until three days in.

Three days without music. All it took. I was messed up. I /needed/ a music fix, and I needed it right that moment. When Francis let me borrow his iPod, I took it, went straight to my tent, got on my cot, closed my eyes and spent half an hour with Led Zepplin.

It was one of the greatest half hours of my life.

Afterwards, I was happier, more energetic... fuck, I'd been in withdrawl from a good, electric six string and the wonders it can work in the hands of a master. Music is the ultimate drug. Once you've started listening... /try/ to go a week without it. It's awful. Trust me. You may think I'm being overdramatic. I'm not. I /NEED/ music in the same way Nikki Sixx /needed/ heroin.

Drug references aside (I bought the Heroin Diaries today. Leave it alone.), music can be a very simple, day-to-day thing. Admittedly, so can heroin (oh, shit, I said I was done with the drug references...), so maybe it's more like a drug we all take, every day, and no one says anything. Still, it's a comforting method of self-medication, without all that nasty cancer and prison time. (And it's really, REALLY hard to OD on music.) So don't worry that you're addicted to Hendrix. We all love us some purple haze, man.

I love music. All music. Except for the kinds I don't like. Look! Generalizations time!

First, let's start with crap. I mean rap. Can't spell crap without rap, yaknowwhatImean? It can be a very expressive, powerful thing (Linkin Park, for example, or the Flobots) or it can be utter bullshit (like, well, most rap.) Rap, in general, lacks most instruments and is about the vocalist "banging" that "ho" who he's objectifying, let's be honest. I hate most rap.

Then there's rock, which is huge. Almost anything you listen to on a /ton/ of stations can be called rock, and probably has been a dozen times. A TON of good bands are rock, and there's also a fuckton of shittacular bands ruining my music the way, say, kagel ruins the English language. Mixed bag, but often a rock band will have at least one good song.

Electronica/Techno: I don't listen to much, though it can be pretty good. Interesting style, can be noise or music, but for the most part it's enjoyable. I especially like the stuff that's very fast. It gets the blood pumping, and is good for dancing (in a certain way). I'd listen happily, but I just enjoy Rise Against and Motley Crue more than I do Daft Punk.

Yes, there's many, many, MANY more styles of music to cover. That's what the comment box is for. Respond, talk about your favorite kinds of music, pretend you care what I think, the usual.

This Is A Very Odd Post

2010-04-03T19:05:00.001-07:00

As I'm in a very odd mood. It's almost like a journal post, but I think that you guys will be able to relate.

Challenging yourselves. Not how fast you can run or how high you can jump, but challenging your own beliefs. When I lost my faith in God, it was a very, very stressful event. Religion was something I'd been raised with, and to give it up was a very painful thing. I lost something I'd accepted as an integral part of myself.

What has me thinking on this takes a minute to explain. Just bear with me for a paragraph or two, alright?

Today was a lazy day. I got up, went to karate, came home and played mass effect two for six hours. Good times, but it's not like I'm getting much done (except for the female romantic interest in the game, but whatever. Serious post.). So I take a break, about ten minutes ago, and I look on facebook because I have nothing better to do. I look at my messages in case I need to add to an ongoing conversation between a friend and I (it's lasted a month so far. :D ), and I start to look through the older ones. Fond memories from the past, in message form, like a party a few weeks ago, or my return to California.

I don't know how, but something caught my eye. An old message from Shannon. Don't think I'm here to bash her, I'm not. I've done plenty of that in the past and I'm not about to do it right now. No, I read it, and it really hit me. She was kind. Considerate. She praised me and thanked me for what she did, and even apologized for her harshness in that blog of hers.

Many things I've never done.

I'm not sure if this is meant to be an apology, or what. I've considered that in the past, but I've always come back to the deep-rooted hatred I have for her, and the same reasons I have to justify it (thoroughly necessary, let me note, without them there's hardly an excuse, now is there?). I've discussed why I hate her before. I tell people it /all the time/. Always the same reasons, always the same excuse for what one might deem cruelty.

Is it still cruelty if it's justified?

I don't know. Tell me, readers, is it? And more importantly, is it justified in the first place?

You've seen a lot of the drama that's gone down between Shannon and I. It's entirely online nowadays, so I bring it along to you people to laugh and to criticize. But in for a twist I will surely regret, I'm posting this to see if you want to criticize /me/.

Me, readers. I want to know how you honestly feel about a lot of this, especially given what I've just now noted (earlier. Look back, before the sappy bullshit.) But I'd also like to urge you to remember her actions more recently, like barging in on /my/ relationship, when I had it, with Lydia.

Tell me. Please. Comment, facebook it, call me, text me, tell me in person, whatever. Just let me know somehow. I really want to know if this is something I need to rethink.

I honestly can't even tell anymore.

Jackets.

2010-04-01T21:09:00.001-07:00

First off, if you're reading this, this post is dedicated to Anette, who really shouldn't be ignoring me since I'm such a sweet freakin' guy. Now then:

Every man needs a good jacket. They're an integral part of every man's wardrobe. Let's examine why.

First off, the style factor. While I may not be the most qualified to say so, I think a man looks better in a jacket. Let's be honest, here. It makes him look as though he has a nice figure (either quite lean and tall, or with those like mine, well built and... tall.) barring excessive fatness like that found on Max Moore, it's quite the piece for the stylish man's chest.

Next, heat. This is twofold: first, you laughably weak humans are always complaining about being cold in winter, even though in winter on Shaq'ath we have to burrow to the core just to prevent from totally freezing. As such, your classy jacket can also serve to trap your body heat, yada yada, you stay warm. Far more important, however, is the fact that girls get cold too. If you're a gentleman, like yours truly, you'll leap at an opportunity to give a lady your jacket, so she may stay warm while you suck it up.

Speaking of ladies: Girls have a thing for mens' clothing. My sisters still steal mine. I've come to the understanding it's because the clothing that our beloved females don is a bit... tight in order to, shall we say, maximize their assets. Looser, comfier, mens' clothing is much, much more appealing, so they'll go ahead and steal our jackets if we're close with them (and by steal, I mean we offer it to them and they keep it. Just how it goes, shell out twenty and get another, scrooge) which presents you with a wonderful opportunity to get closer to them. If they're your girlfriend, it's a great excuse to go to their place.

So, in summary, a jacket makes a man look better, keeps him from being blue in the face, and with it's marvelous applications in wooing the opposite gender, it keeps him from being blue in the balls, as well. What a wonderful piece of cloth engineering.

The End.

2010-04-01T15:29:00.000-07:00

Holy shit. I can't believe I'm actually posting this, this is insane.

Alright, I can. This is your beloved Anthony speaking. This is the end of the blog.

It's been a good run, 163 posts full of awesome. Well, 164, I suppose, with this. The East Coast Blog Project has been more than I dared dream. I mean, I've managed almost two dozen readers, apparently, which blows my mind. I can't believe I got to so many posts, or so much controversy and hell, all because of one ex girlfriend and maybe, maybe a little talent on my part.

Things change, though. The blog never really had a chance, did it? Let's be honest, no one reads blogs. You lot comment, but I can't do this any more. It's too much.

I spend /hours/ on each post, and dozens don't even get published. Some of you know just how many are sitting as drafts, just lying there because I can't bring myself to finish them or show you lot my efforts. It's sad, pathetic, even, but it's true: I'm not up to this any more.

I can hardly even think of post ideas any more. The deep series was great, for a while, but I can hardly even post on the more controversial topics without offending half of my precious audience.

I've moved on. I nerf, I do martial arts, I listen to more and more music, there are occasionally girls in my life, and I'm still a boy scout, I'm getting a summer job and on top of it all I have a shockingly existent social life. What I'm trying to say is: there's no more room in my life.

All of this adds up to this: The End. This is the last post I will ever write for 48 Hours.

I'd like to dedicate this to you guys, however. You guys who commented, who read every post and even called me a great writer once in a while. It kept me going, and I wouldn't have reached twenty posts without you lot. I love you all.

Especially you, Conor. You've commented on nearly every post, you never fail to read them, and you add so much to my posts. Halley, you've been here from day freakin' one and talked about (and commented on, once in a while) quite a few of my posts. This was fun, and thank you. All the others - AJ, Tarra, Random Asian, Jenna, Austin, so many more who I can't even name now, you all rock. Thank you for supporting one suburban aspiring gearhead genius's attempt at an interesting blog.

I love you all, and thank you.

Also, happy April Fool's Day.

Shoggoth The Hell Goo

2010-03-28T12:29:00.000-07:00

I spent four hours this morning reading a certain amazing blog, where some guy from Holland (they can't dutch this) grows a bucket of mold. It's way, way more dope than you imagine, I promise.

In other news, I felt fuckin' mellow earlier, but no longer because I have EIGHTY FIVE GEOGRAPHY QUESTIONS TO DO. Fuck this shit.

I'm Going To Make A Few Broad Generalizations Here

2010-03-23T20:18:00.000-07:00

And they're going to be correct.

Listen up, readers. Let's stop debating how hot I am (yes, I /am/ better looking than R.D. Jr., move on) and remember something. You lot aren't quite adults. At best, I have /a/ reader who's going to college. Which is /not/ adulthood. The majority of us aren't even that close. Most of you are freshmen. I'm not saying this is a bad thing, I'm just saying that we need to remember that we're still kids (except AJ, he's a man.)

We kids aren't supposed to be debating healthcare. Put down the pitchforks and torches and *listen*. We're 15. We should be laughing at each other's jokes and going to parties and mark should be discovering what his penis is /really/ used for. (zing! :D ) I'm well aware that it seems I'm defending ignorance here. I'm not. What I'm doing is proposing an alternate list of priorities, in which issues that affect adults (and us, admittedly, but there isn't much we can /do/ about it) are left to be debated by adults.

Look, I really have no problems with anyone who knows what they're talking about arguing a point. But that's the point. None of us know what we're talking about, and I'm honestly fine with not knowing for once.

This is getting horribly off message. Let's fix that.

What I'm trying to say in this apparently confused article is this: stop arguing. We're kids, hold on to that, and go and enjoy life. The best part of being our age is that we don't have to care about this, why should we try to? I, for one, am going to let the healthcare bill do its thing and go to someone's house to drink soda and play video games /like a kid should/.

I'm not saying you should be ignorant, I'm saying big issues shouldn't be a regular part of our lives. They should be there, they're important, but stop talking about them like it's all you have to do. I promise you, it isn't.

Look, what I'm trying to say is this: we're kids, stop worrying for a little while each day and try to remember that.

Fanboys (and a brief bit of bragging)

2010-03-19T19:01:00.000-07:00

Or, alternatively, "Shut the F*ck Up About Your Damn Mac, Boy".

I hate a lot of things. Bigots, republicans, douchebags, my damn reappearing british accent, having to explain my damn reappearing british accent, having to tell people I'm not on drugs and waiting in lines all make the top seven.

The top seven fails, of course, to take into account the worst thing of all, because it's generally accepted in whatever side of my brain handles logic (whether it be the upside, the downside, the bedside, the blindside with Sandra Bullock, or maybe even the side that makes me such a sadistic bastard, that fanboys will always hold my number one "I hate your goddamn guts and I hope you die in a fire hanging from a razorwire noose around your balls" spot.

It's not the products they endorse. I don't give a shit (anymore) about PS3s, Macs, PCs, Xbox, Verizon, Sprint, or whatever, I think they're all groovy. It's the /way/ they endorse them. Do they talk about their good points? No. Do they detail the fun/brag about the functionality to be found in it? No. Do they bash the opposing side? Yes. Oh god, yes.

Now, Let's take a look at the last few paragraphs. Despite some language, they come off (to me, at least) as fairly well structured, coherent, and pleasing to read. This is what I aim for, as do most people in their writing (and some of us in the way they talk.)

Let's imagine what the last few bits would be like if written by a fanboy, about fanboys (forget the irony. Just imagine.)

Fanbois are the stupidest stupid fuckity fucks bcuz they have no lifes and they suck dick because they suck so hard at doing anything real.

The end. And yes, that gave me a migraine. It hurts.

On top of their lack of even kagel-level intelligence, and an utter failure to grasp the English language, they are completely closed-minded. Talk to one. They don't listen, they wait for a chance to speak. Much like some of the people I mentioned recently, they're utter idiots.

Indeed, this post isn't as deep as the others, but I feel it's a tad more entertaining. Also, to see Chris, Eddie/Mark/Dibs, Austin and I utterly destroy Kagel, click this link.

Homosexuality

2010-03-14T15:36:00.000-07:00

Some things blow my mind. Like Republicans, or the fact that I didn't think of this topic. Mad props to Halley for the idea.

Despite my generally assholish attitude, I care about people. Like gays. Especially gays. Racism ticks me off too, as any biggotry does, but when someone's a douche about gay people, it really pisses me off. Anyone who knows me has probably realized this by now.

I don't know how it happened, honestly. One of my [many] faults is a terrible memory, so maybe something /did/ happen that set me off on this path of righteousness, but I can't remember at all. To the best of my knowledge, it just sort of clicked one day. I didn't care for a long time, even making little jokes (still no slurs, don't worry) about gays. I view this as rather assholish behavior, but I can't change now what I did then.

According to Scott, he once used the word 'gay' as an insult (ie: that's so gay). This set me off, he says. From his tone, it must've been a commonplace thing and he remembers the event because that was the first time I'd objected to it. I still object to it (not that he says it anymore, but to people in general) because, as I (unfortunately) so often have to explain, I know gay people. There's nothing wrong with them.

Invariably, the next question is directed towards my own sexuality.

I'm straight. Chris and I may have our gay days, but in case you didn't pick up on that, that's a joke. Good times, a bit of variety, etc. I don't understand why people can't immediately comprehend that a straight person would stand up for gays. It alarms me with it's small mindedness [editors note: it's not that it isn't a valid question, it's just that it shouldn't make a difference, especially not as it pertains to the validity of my arguments].

Idiocy is fun to hear about. Unless you have two brain cells to rub together. Then it's f**king awful. Take, for example, don't ask don't tell. GOP forbid (haha, self-reference and irony in one statement. Beautiful.) that gays protect their country. May the long arm of small mindedness prevent those who are different from fighting on our behalf, risking their lives so we can live our own idiotic ones. Pathetically stupid, to the point I want to yell and scream and cry, all at once.

Or prop eight. Oh jesus, the gays want to be married. The buy-bull says they shouldn't be. In this nation of a separated church and state, will you bless our representatives as they prevent the heretics from living their own lives, and doing something that won't affect us at all, in any way?

I've thought about what the world would be like backwards. What if gays were the majority? What if straights were thought to be gross because they fucked the other gender, because the other gender had different parts, and that wasn't natural? What would straights say then? I'd love to see a few of the prop H8 supporters in that world. Love to see them survive for five fuckin' minutes before they had the shit beat out of them.

That says a lot, doesn't it? The minority gets oppressed. No matter what. Laws only matter if the majority follows them, for whatever reason, so they're out. And all we're left with is us. US, people. We forget, in the complexity of the world, that the human voice is remarkable. We can do many great things if we band together and fight back. You look at the great movers and shakers from years ago, and think, I could never do that. Remember, they were people just like you once. And they stood up and said enough. Say enough, people

I've said before the norm is the norm for a reason, and sadly, the new norm appears to be stupidity. The reason for this, quite clearly, is stupidity. Stupid begats stupid, which begats some more stupid until you have a whole 52% of the state as stupid, and enough stupids in charge to think the majority of stupids can take away the rights of anyone else, because there are more stupids.

Come on, people. Haven't we grown up since fifth grade? The biggest bully isn't in charge any more. We left that in elementary school. We're smarter now, and we have loud voices to rally the cause. We get a few more intelligent people together, we can change this. We can change the hate to love, the stupid to smart, the bigots to lovers, and eventually turn prop 8 into nothing more than a sad page in a history book.

It all starts with you. You don't have to rally, not yet. All you need to do is remember that gays aren't freaks. They're people like you or I, people with hopes and dreams and regrets and lives to live. Will stopping them from being happy really make your own life any better? No, it won't. So stop rambling about those flaming homosexuals and think for a second.

You think about what a fucking idiot you're being hating gays, internalize it, then take the first step towards redemption.

You stop.

War

2010-03-06T08:02:00.001-08:00

I'm listening to a song now, Fight With Tools, it's a perfect accompaniment to this topic. The song has a mood of unrest to it. What better to accompany unrest, then, than war?

I don't talk about war much. This is because war scares me, not because of the death, that can be found everywhere. Rather, I see it as hopeless.

Say you want to get something done. Why would anyone do anything for you, unless they have an incentive? Now, there are two kinds of incentives. Positive and negative. Positive being, of course, money, or a service. Negative is a threat. The threat of destruction, usually. Sometimes of property, sometimes of family, but most often, of someone's own human body. I'll go out on a limb and say you already know what that's called, violence.

Wars are, quell surprise, based off violence. The whole concept of war is we get some violence sticks and you get some violence sticks and we whack each other until someone says enough and hands the other one something of theirs (money, land, their nuclear warheads, whatever). Pacifists want us to lay down our violence sticks, (or at least the nukes) and all live in a pleasant world free from all the terror that a war represents.

I'd love that, let me be honest. As a teenage boy, I still have some of that childhood love for guns and the good guys beating the bad, but I'm level-headed enough now to realize that that's a childish enamorment. It's been said before, I'll say it again. War is hell. /Hell./ No shit, sherlock. That's why pacifists are busy telling us to put the violence sticks away.

The pacifists, in this case, miss the important thing. Remember the incentives I mentioned earlier? "Ahh," you say, you don't need me to make the last leap for you. Say everyone puts away the violence sticks. Say we establish a worldwide organization to make sure everyone keeps them away. Say we even hand them some money for being good little countries. Well, here's the thing. If one of them. /One/, takes out the violence stick for any reason, then the only thing we can do is take our collective sticks out, and collectively beat the shit out of him. And then it's war.

You can't honestly expect people to forget violence. It's always there. Smug idiot in your face? You bitch slap that little jerk into next week. Need an incentive everyone always understands? Violence. Violence. Violence. VIOLENCE. It doesn't go away. I'll go as far as to say it's an instinctive part of a human being. So you know that someone is going to take out the ol' violence stick at some point, probably not to long after the peacekeeping thing was established, and go ahead and whack the hell out of the poor schmuck who wasn't looking.

War is a terrible, terrible thing. I have the deepest respect for those soldiers who fight in it, or at least those who liberate or defend, and nothing but contempt for those who start it (not necessarily the first to invade, just the first to wrong us to the point that we have no other option). It isn't going away. In an ideal world, we'd have never even learnt of violence. Unfortunately, we have. Violence begat War, and now the two are part of an untouchable cycle of hate and destruction.

The only solution that ever held water, at least for a little bit, was the Ultimate Weapon. Mutually Assured Destruction sprang from this concept. Both basically represent the same thing, that if you can assure that /everyone/ dies, no one will. The thing is, though, I think you know deep down that /someone/ would try to use it, to cheat MAD. Try to wipe the enemy off the face of the planet with whatever hellish weapon was the latest when they went apeshit enough to try.

Humanity, you sadistic bunch of fucks. Why did you have to create this hell on Earth?

Life

2010-03-02T17:39:00.000-08:00

Music. It has amazing effect on the human psyche, you know that? I mean, just listening to Handlebars, by Flobots, makes me want to go anarchist. I just thought I'd open with that, as the unbelievably powerful song is going to have an effect on my writing today.

Writing, unsurprisingly, about life.

Millions of thinkers have spent their respective lives... thinking about life. Life is a confusing thing. I mean really confusing. Try and decide what's alive, right now. Human? Easy. Dog? Of course. What about that plant? Sure, I suppose, er... maybe. Now how about a rock? What's to say they aren't conscious and screaming as we mine them, we're just deaf to them? This paragraph isn't to make you feel bad about digging in dirt, I want you to grasp exactly what we can't: life. We are nothing short of completely incapable of comprehending what it is to not be alive. Sure, we're fairly sure that rocks aren't living, but we wonder plenty about what happens when humans die.

That created religion, I think. Because it was comforting to think there's a reason that your love is staring blankly at the ceiling, that if you're good and kind to the world, when you pass on you'll greet her and spend eternity with your other half. Maybe that's how it is. I don't know, because I'm not better than you. I'm completely incapable of comprehending death much the same way you are.

Sure, we can hide behind clinical charts, quantifiable data, but the truth is, life and death are powerful, powerful things. I am alive now. I am a fantastic thing, as are you, reader. And your neighbor, they're fantastic, too. So is your dog and the bird outside your window and even that kid you hate in 4th period. Why? Because they're alive. You're alive. Try and grasp what that means. Your heart is beating? Neurons in your brain are communicating? You're in good enough health to take that next breath painlessly?

No. Those are not what it is to be alive. To be alive is so, so much more than that. Life is the thrill of discovery, the warmth of joy, the pain of loss and the crushing weight of regret. Life is putting that next foot in front of the last, taking another step, even if it's towards the eventual oblivion that might await us all. We don't know, we can't know, so we move on. We carry on. We live.

Living is hard to appreciate, as it's all we've ever known. You can't imagine not being alive because it isn't anything. It's a nothing. That's why we're alive, because it's a something. I contend that the point of life is not love, it is not to be rich, or to learn guitar, or attract a girl, or anything. The point of life is you. You, reader. You are the center of your own little world, the world that you see that contains everything but your own face.

When you live, you do. You do, you bring joy and pain and hate and cruelty and love and happiness and most of all LIFE to others. You are the reason everyone else is alive, much the same reason everyone else is the reason you are alive.

This may be getting confusing. Allow me to clarify.

What do you think about in the morning, or late at night, or when you meditate or dream or scream or cry or smile? You might answer, "Me." Well, you aren't me to a thousand million people. You're you. And in some small way, you play a part in their lives, an act of selflessness or selfishness, love or hate, joy or sadness, or any one of a million other things, that you brought them. You are, to me, not me, but you. I think of the effect you've had on my life, it's grand.

Still confusing.

What I'm trying to say (and failing miserably) is that you live for me and I live for you. We all live to have an effect. Great men and women who leave their marks on history are hardly better than a man who helps a fallen boy back to his feet. Why? The only difference is in numbers. Both change, what's that, /lives/.

Downright hopeless, now.

Look, let me be perfectly clear: we live to make an effect. On history or on your son, it matters little. The important thing is we live to do. To be the change. To strum the chord, to help the man to his feet, to cry, to scream, to yell and rage and fight and smile and hope at the very, very end that it was all worth it to end up there. Whether it end on the godforsaken soil of a battlefield, your coffin made of shells and bodies, or buried in an English cemetery in oak and a suit, life is a constant struggle which begets joy and suffering. Maybe in equal measure, maybe not. The important thing is that you clutch those joyous moments to your chest and remember them, look to them for warmth as you live. Live well, readers. Live as you wish and live to make the world as you see fit, from the seat at the top of a corporation or from a stool in the middle of a drum kit in the middle of a stage, do as you will with this life.

It is, after all, the only one we have.

I Think I Need A Sign

2010-03-01T19:57:00.000-08:00

It'll read: "Sadistic Bastard" and I'll wear it around my neck.

Let me clarify. I was reading through some of my favorite posts today. Going through all the ones about shannon, and reading all the comments to see what you lot (and that anonymous who bashed halley, not to be confused with legs) and I smiled. Why? Because it showed me a lot about who I can be.

I can be evil. I read that I'm ruining Shannon's life, and it makes me laugh. Not at that (well, a little) but mostly at the idiocy and lies that other people spread. Because it makes them feel good. It makes them feel right, it makes them feel secure and warm and fuzzy inside!

Seriously, though, I'm evil. I make Haitain (and now Chile) jokes, I insult people, and I don't even care. Why? Because I'm /evil/. Does that amuse anyone else?

I mean, look at society. We're good, we're upright, law abiding citizens. Except, deep down, we're selfish jerks. I own that. I'm open about it. And people respect me for it (I, uh, think. Be honest in the comments!) it's a very different perspective on life, and it really opens your eyes. It also is great fun. Really.

This brings me to the point of this rambling post: I'm willing to leave standard, humorous content (for a time) to write about life, love, and all that orange-crush-drinking jazz. I want to know how many of you would enjoy that, as to my knowledge, you enjoy this blog because it's funny. These posts would be witty (I hope) but not necessarily hilarious.

As this is a big change, I want your feedback. Which means commenting, you lot. It's that or I bother you in real life. Who wants to be seen with the sadist? (No offense to my fellow evildoers. I love you all.)

RARGLE FRARGLE

2010-02-27T20:17:00.000-08:00

IT'S MAH MOTHERF***IN BIRTHDAY.

Since content is still elusive (hence the lack of posts) I'm doing a journal. And you guys are going to comment, because it's my birthday.

You know what I did today? I fell asleep at the computer, woke up at 5:30, read my book, listened to jazz and fake rain to relax, and about 10 I got outta bed. At this point, I maxed out the volume and showered to dragonforce. It was amazing.

I went to my CIT interview, and I'm pretty sure I did pretty good. Then I came home and played vidya games till mah parteh, where I got presents I didn't expect and it was dope. I also beat borderlands again.

It's been a great birthday.

Look, readers, content seems to be lacking. I really need some inspiration, or the blog is going down. I wish I were kidding, but I don't like journal posts. I make an exception for my birthday, but really. Help me out here.

You know, Conor,

2010-02-21T01:49:00.000-08:00

I actually shed a tear. But it's from being up for twenty hours straight, which sucks, by the way. Though damn, twenty. As to you writing, I have mixed feelings that I'll keep to myself until I see any of your writing. Maybe do a trial run with some facebook notes?

Hello, everyone. I thought I'd bring in some content today, by discussing everyone's favorite thing. You know, that one thing that you all know, that you all love and occasionally watch on screen.

That's right, today's post is about pokemon.

Has anyone ever considered how big ash's balls must be (metaphorically speaking, of course. Hear me out.)? This kid sets off, aged ten, with a rat that has power over lightning, and tackles dinosaurs, fire-breathing dragons, deities that control time, magical beasts that can alter reality, birds made of fire, ghosts, psychic freaks, living rocks, genetically engineered superbeasts, and more. These sights would terrify you sane humans, and yet this kid is willing to take them on, with little more than a brilliant strategic mind and a hard-earned arsenal of creatures he keeps in little scientific wonder balls. (Pun intended).

If even a garados were to show up, humanity would be on site with a tank, a reporter, a crazy college student, three apache attack helicopters, an infantry platoon and a bob marley tribute band. Mostly the military forces. They'd cut the fuckin' thing up and try and do shit with it. The kind of response would be justified, I mean, this is a sea serpent that can launch monthereffin' lasers out of it's mouth, create whirlpools, and undergo freakishly intense bouts of evolution.

And this ten year old kicks its ass.

I salute you, Ash Ketchum, for being the second best sacked man on the planet.

I would, however, love to see all the animals on earth spontaneously replaced with pokemon. I'd ride a freakin' dragon to school, and shit. Twould be dope.

Journal time? I went to a bitchin' party today, with nerf, cake, soda, LAN parties, halo, MW2, and bad singing. Epicly dope.

Short and sweet. I love you, readers.

A Note

2010-02-11T21:27:00.000-08:00

I'll be taking a short haitus, as I feel quality is dropping. It won't last more than a week. Two, tops. I just need to get some content for this thing.

- Professor Plum

The Creative Process

2010-02-11T19:13:00.000-08:00

Because I have been desperately low on content this week, I thought, for fulfillment and mayhap a bit of irony, I'd talk to you people about what the creative process is like for this thing. Maybe it'll help you understand why I appreciate you lot so much.

6:40 AM: Woken up. Groan.

6:41-7:30 AM : Prepare for school, breakfast, shower, etc. Spark of creativity is not awake yet.

7:55 AM : Arrive at school. Talk to friends. Take note of things that inspire you for future use on blog.

8 something AM: 1st period ends. Forget everything you were going to write about. Repeat as needed, or until it's time to go home.

3:05 PM : Head home. Reflect on day, etc. Sort of recall things you were going to write about.

3:10 PM : Ride home. Be angry for forgetting what you were going to write.

3:30 PM : Arrive home. Forget about everything for an hour or two.

6:00 PM : Begin writing blog post. Become angry because whatever idea will not turn into content.

6:10 PM : Take break.

7:30 PM : See blog post open in tab you've forgotten about. Return to writing.

8: 00 PM : Post will still not come to life. Rage.

8:10 PM Give up/cop out and make shitty post about whatever.

Yeah, writing these isn't exactly easy. Coming up with content even on a flexible schedule like this really makes me respect comic writers.

Anyone who wishes to help should email me at cmdnA12@gmail.com (like most things, there is a story behind that username. Inquire if you're interested, bored, whatever.

Do me a favor and contribute. All these journal-type posts piss me off. I dislike them greatly.

Two Discoveries Today

2010-02-10T21:55:00.001-08:00

One: Applications make you feel inadequate. Checking the "no" box breaks your freakin' heart. Not fun.

Two: Sweat Pants are the greatest invention since sex. Or sliced bread, if you feel conservative.

Which reminds me. Fox Noise is now claiming that the snowstorm in Washington D.C. disproves global warming (which is now dubbed climate change, actually. Neat.) I practically died laughing.

Back to sweat pants. I am currently experiencing a level of comfort I haven't felt since I went commando for a day. And this is almost as good. Now, maybe I should combine the two...

Enough discussing my beloved first mate. The point is, Fox Noise is stupid, sweat pants rock, applications suck, and people need to respect you when they ask you for advice.

Yeah. Look, I won't name any names, but when you go to someone asking for help, you don't call them a douchebag and such. You thank them, even if you already knew what they were going to say. Got it? (You may have picked up, I'm venting.)

Apologies for lack of content. /something/ good will be up this weekend, that's all I can promise. Sorry, all. I know its below average, I'm working on it, I swear.

Poof!

2010-02-09T16:43:00.000-08:00

Down that Post comes.

Apologies for disgusting the lot of you. The bleeding must have spawned a loss of blood to my brain.

As an apology, I'd love to make a cake, but I have things to do. So, maybe next week.

Another Milestone

2010-02-08T15:15:00.000-08:00

That I forgot to mention.

We reached a new record for comments recently, 12 on a single post. Way to go, readers. Also, another anon has appeared. Does this 'Legs' wish to reveal their identity?

SUPARTYBOWL!

2010-02-07T22:01:00.000-08:00

I'm coming to terms with how nasty my finger is right now. Ask about it tuesday. I'll show you.

Seriously though, it's fucking gross, smells funny, and even now I have difficulty coming to terms with the fact that I'm talking about my goddamn finger. Jeebas. I just spent two minutes staring at it. It's still wierd.

So, a LOT went down this weekend. From awesome parties I'll tell you about, superbowls you don't need to hear about, and fucking things up with an ex you don't get to hear about, this was a full two days. And I have a whole nother! Woo!

So, I started off the weekend awake. Then, about 1, I fell asleep. Later, it was 9, so I got up, went to martial arts at 10, kicked ass for an hour and a half, came home, showered, and went late to chris's birthday party I said I'd be early for. But his birthday is actually monday, and that was saturday. Whatever.

So, I arrive, and in short,there was music and it blasted out my eardrums with awesome, chris played his song, the girls ditched, we watched some movies, made a few ourselves, went nuts, shot each other with nerf guns, went on walks at three AM, played uno at five, slept at six, woke up at 9, had a delicious breakfast, and played on the computer in everything but that order.

Take a moment to realize that's one long sentence.

So, to elaborate on my favorite bits in chronological order of remembering the details of them:

That three AM walk? Awesome. We snuck out, which makes you feel hella alive. Like, amazing. The sky was this neat amber color, and we all felt pretty good. I was warm inside my jacket, too. We spent a good 10, 20 minutes walking. It was pro.

There was also the moviemaking. We busted out a camera, switched to vid mode and then recorded the majority of the first few hours. Later, we watched us doing things we'd done earlier. It was funny and awesome at the same time.

There was also the movie watching. We watched parts of avatar (the good parts, anyway), inglorious basterds (which I didn't like as much as I'd thought I would), and some of Casino Royale, which was awesome. Except when the aston got trashed. Chris, Jon, and I all wanted to cry. It sucked epically.

The music bit? I sat in a room as a piano, a drum kit, and a guitar with a REALLY nice amp blasted at me. It was amazing. I could've come to the awesome. (Gross story related to that. Ask me sometime, if you're really interested).

So yeah. That's as much of the party as I'm going to tell you about.

The superbowl: The Saints won. And that's all I have to say about that.

The end. Fin. Finito, gone, done, over. Exit, stage left and or right. Comment.

Rooting for the little guys

2010-02-05T21:27:00.000-08:00

You may have noticed, I love it when other people blog.

It's great. Problem is, this is a huge deal. Many people give up.

An exception, however, appears to have... appeared. So this mini post is to plug Zak Kagel's Blog, Because We Can, (protip: that underlined bit is a link) as it appears (again, really?) to have potential. I just commented on the war post. It was pleasant to vent.

The idea behind his blog is a fairly neat one, if not particularly novel. He posts controversial topics. People argue about them in the comments. It's working fairly well, and yours truly contributes.

So, if you readers would benefit his kind blog with your traffic, I'm sure he'd appreciate it. Darwin knows I would.

This weekends post will probably be up on Monday (sorry for the wait) as I'm a bit busy. Hope none of you mind. Just remember: I care.

The Big 2k

2010-02-04T17:11:00.001-08:00

My fingers have adjusted to typing like this. And being that I just reached two thousand hits on this thing, it seems a post with some semblance of decency is in order.

So, to business.

I read 1001 Ways to Be Romantic when I was eight. It was a fine read. Afterwards, my family sometimes joked that I was the Love Doctor. Paging Dr. Love, etc. I never dreamed I actually would, though. Without breaking love doctor/patient confidentiality, I can tell you that it feels like I'm responsible. A little like playing god, I suppose. I mean, I even argued with myself. While this isn't quite rare, it showed me exactly what I was toying with here.

Relationships aren't something new to me. I had my first girlfriend when I was six, and I'd say I showed her a fairly good time. True, I didn't have another till 7th grade, but whatever. Point is, I've experienced them. I know the joy they can bring to people. And I know how much breakups can suck.

That is, epically. And people come to me, asking me what to do. They reveal intimate details of their love lives to me, and ask me, /me/, for advice. This is a powerful thing, because people can take this things to heart.

I'm just saying, I needed to vent a bit. It's sort of scary. Not really, because, I mean, I /know/ these people will move on. I'm just scared of making them do something they don't want to. Thank you all for listening.

I needed that.

Anyway, I want to apologize for bashing Shannon. Not that it really matters to me how she feels about it (I feel my actions are morally right, at least on some level) but it's gotten a bit stale this past week, which is not how I like this thing to be. I treasure all of you readers, and entertaining you is the reason this thing keeps going.

Though I do recognize that some of you felt it was wrong. I apologize for offending you. Not Anonymous, but Conor and Ian, apologies if it really bothered you.

I feel as though this should have more content than it does.

I've been listening to Yellowcard again. I'd forgotten how nice they are. Rough Landing, Holly and Ocean Avenue are my favorites, currently. Is anyone else a fan? I'd also recommend Rise Against and a youtube artist called MysteryGuitarMan. The former is a fantastic group, and the latter is creative and funny. His videos are also rather upbeat, which I approve of.

Which brings me to happiness. I find it odd that I, of all people in these circumstances, should be talking about a lack of joy. I mean, I find much fun in life. I lead a rather good one, I'd say. Good music, good friends, and people listen to what I have to say. I'm not ignored, I get girlfriends now and then, and I attend rockin' parties. I get orange soda, a 360, and a guitar I continue to swear I'll learn to play.

So I'm pretty happy. And I feel others should be too.

Yet, when I attend my government-required self betterment, I notice that people aren't happy. All the drama, the bad relationships, the breakups, the dying over projects, the getting ditched, the friends turning to drugs and even those little insults everyone throws at you all add up. People have reason to be unhappy.

But we can fix that.

We can help deal with the rampant sadness. Just be nice, people. Be nice, and don't do drugs and be careful what you say and be careful what you do. Because people can get fucked up. And it isn't a pleasant thing to see.

I guess what I'm getting at is we would all be happier if we all laid off the harshness a bit.

So go, readers. Go out and be nice. Make the world a little biddy bit better.

It Appears Shannon has taken down her blog.

2010-02-03T22:38:00.000-08:00

Neat.

I have band aids on my fingers. Typing is evil.

2010-02-01T23:33:00.001-08:00

enjoying the world of dark with these 3-D glasses. great day.

A Letter

2010-02-01T17:38:00.000-08:00

Dear Anonymous,

First, back off my readers. They have nothing to do with what I write here. If you have a quarrel with me, say so. But don't vent your hate towards me on them. It makes you look even less intelligent than you already appear.

I don't know who you are. I'm interested, but at this point, it matters little. From your post, it's clear you disapprove of what I post here. And that's fine. Everyone's entitled to an opinion. It's just, yours is stupid.

Before I go much further, lets set a few facts straight regarding Shannon and I:

You must understand, I operate on little information. Well, I know plenty of things (need a napalm substitute? Come to me.) but with Shannon, I go with what I know. I know she acts like her life is terrible. I know she acts like I ruin it (with this, especially. More on that later.) I know she acts like we could be friends, like we could forget that we have nothing in common (more on that later, too). She acts like a lot of things. Thing is, I am, deep down, a scientist. I may act like a banana, but do to lack of potassium and other banana-ish bits, I am not. Without proof, things are as good as dead to me. I have no proof with Shannon. Thus, to me, all those acts are false. False.

Now, about this blog:

This blog is an interesting thing. It started, admittedly, in order to laugh about stupid things Shannon did. A bit harsh, to be sure, but it's gone on to be more than a Shannon hate session. I discuss life, love, and other things here. To deny so is to be blind and ignorant. All the same, in recent times, things have happened. I'll be the first to admit I had a hand in it, but there is no denying that Shannon is not without fault. Like I said, Shannon, stay the fuck away from my personal life.

Which brings me, of course, to Shannon and I personally:

We had, as you lot know, a relationship. Three weeks of lovey-dovey-she-never-kissed-me shit. We hugged, we talked (to a degree; recall, this was a while back) not much exciting, to be honest. As said previously, that wasn't love. Much more interesting, in fact, was what happened after she dumped me (laugh it up, see if I care). Several of the earliest events led to this blog (the cracker incident, writing in my planner, that time she kissed me in P.E.), but things hardly end there. Most of you will have, by now, seen what she's written. That, and the phone call recently, contributed to the more recent slew of hate posts. These, I admit, were harsh.

I don't regret them.

What I say here is for the benefit of my readers and I. It is not intended to be a mob starter, or a reason to hate anyone. Moreover, I'll be the first to admit I'm a master of half truths, but what I write here is genuine. I do my best to admit my own faults, but fact is, in these cases, I appear to be the victim.

Shannon, if you read this, know that I write what I see. I don't exactly attempt to hide your part in it, but like I JUST SAID, I admit my own faults. I'd apologize, but I still don't regret them. If this is actually hurting you, stop reading it. Or give me a good reason to stop. Hearing that I'm hurting someone I perceive as a drama queen isn't quite motivation.

Anonymous, you know who you are. I have my suspicions. Your opinion is fine, but yell at me. Not the readers. They aren't the ones sparking the trouble, now are they?

Readers, you must have an opinion. As you've said, this is a harsh blog. I almost considered apologizing to Shannon, but sometimes, people stick there noses where they shouldn't. And sometimes, they must be punished.

Still, I value your opinions (civil ones, anyway), so speak out! Don't worry if you don't comment, I exist in person for a reason. Talk to me if you have a serious concern about what I do here.

On a final note, Shannon has complained what I post here is too much. I think she knows that I could do so much, much worse. So let's keep things civil, shall we?

Another Classic Shannon Bash is Up

2010-01-31T03:25:00.001-08:00

But you gotsta scroll down. Past the miscellaneous rubbish post. Damn blogger. I'd deal with ti, but it's three in the morning. I'm going to sleep.

Miscellanious Rubbish

2010-01-29T23:16:00.001-08:00

Why? Because it's been too serious recently. Now, I've written some good shit recently, but as I recall, people come to this thing and don't comment, the jerks, because it's funny.

Newsflash, me talking about love? Not funny. Hence, there will now be funny shit.

Today I finished up finals. Well, sort of. I seem to have a history with trouble with finals, actually. Let me get into that.

So, imagine the scene. Anthony, 7th grade genius, looks at the camera. His rippling muscles hidden barely beneath his stylish shirt. He walks into the 8th grade algebra classroom. The girls swoon.

Alright, writing like that about 8th graders makes me feel like a goddamn pedophile. Let's try again.

I head into 8th grade algebra. Why? Cause I'm a goddamn genius. I'm a 7th grader at the time. I take the math course anyway. So, I rock my way through the final, feeling like a pro, when lo and behold, I finish. I chill for a bit. The bell rings. Oh, time to go, I think. I sweep everything off my desk, into my backpack. Including my final.

...Yeah. Not my best moment. Neither was doing the exact same thing next year, when, despite not really taking the course (more on that next) I was forced to take the final regardless. Into the backpack. On the upside, it never became a widespread thing, so I never got any shit for it.

Yeah, I didn't really take math in 8th. I went to the library 4 days a week, and pretended to do a math program on the computer. On Fridays (and later, more often) I sat in the back corner of the room, and taught myself sign language off a chart in the geometry book I'd been given. I have completely forgotten all of those signs, by the way.

Such is the life of a suburban gearhead party-obsessed romantically gifted genius. Hmm. That needs more adjectives. Also, a rundown of shannon's phone call to me last night will be posted this weekend. So if this doesn't get your blood flowing, with luck, that will.

Additionally, comment, for the love of Darwin.

Shannon Called

2010-01-28T18:57:00.000-08:00

[BRACKETS are editors commentary]

[Also, generic Shannon hate post, this is just a phase, I swear.]

[Lemme get this straight: I'm posting at /2:30/ in the goddamn morning about an ex girlfriend? This is a TERRIBLE idea!]

[Remembers not to care what she thinks]

[Posts]

tl;dr version: (or summary):

Look, shannon just called.She was all,"Anthony, what the fuck did you do!?!?!!?" Because apparently, people are saying I kissed someone at that party on Saturday.

But that's not the thing. After I yell the fuck out of her for having the balls to intrude on someone elses relationship,she was all, "So I was talking to rosemary, and she told me you posted the link to my blog on your blog, take it down." And then there was more arguing, about what an ass I am, etc. And then what a bitch she is, what a drama queen she is, etc.

Anyway, this blog is the one where she posted how she really felt about some shit, and I figured she didn't care that I had the adress. So I distributed. Now, this is freaking her out.

I mean, she gave me the address in the first place, so whatever.

That was taken from a chat I had with Chris. That's the basic rundown of what happened Thursday night. The elaborated (but redundant version) follows.

So, I'm in my room, chillin' out, maxin', relaxin' all cool, when my sister barges in on me... reading. She thrusts the phone in my direction, telling me it's Dana Pine. I assume this is a lie Shannon told my sister, in order to get me on the phone. Honestly, I would've picked it up in the first place if I'd known this would come out of it.

[What's this, Anthony, you ask? This is me remembering why I hate her goddamn guts. And damn, does it feel good.]

Anyway, I pick up, thinking it's my good friend who I haven't talked to in a while, when lo and behold, instead, I get Shannon. My British accent came into play. Her first question, after revealing her secret identity, was to ask if I was faking it. I explained how it works, and we moved on. Turns out, she heard about what I did. Via rosemary, she learned that I posted the link to her ONLINE BLOG about her DEEP, DARK, PERSONAL FEELINGS, that she wanted kept SECRET. [teehee, caps] And then she gave me the link. Oh, the foolishness.

Those solid pieces of logic are holding me together, currently. Props to Chris for making me feel good about doing the right thing. Which was, in this case, exploiting another human beings mistakes and feelings for the entertainment of the masses. What an odd world this is.

So anyway, in the course of our conversation, we go over that. At some point or another, (the timeline is, as usual, unclear. Unsurprisingly, this is due to it being two in the goddamn morning.) she has the balls to attack what I did on Saturday. Or rather, what she thinks I did, which I made sure not to do, which was made irrelevant due to other things I did do and by events following. She thought I kissed someone at that party Saturday. That I made sure not to do. I fucked up, then. Yes, Lydia and I are no longer together. Even so, I still cheated on her at that point. Which was wrong.

Where was I?

Right. So that set me off. In an explosion of I've-been-studying-and-that-pisses-me-off, I yell at her. A lot. Here's a paraphrased excerpt: "What the FUCK makes you think that's any of your business? That's MY relationship. Stay the FUCK out of it." Notice the swearing? Yeah, I was /that/ ticked. But that's roughly how my side went. As I recall, she was defending herself at first, but then resorted to the same, yeah, I know, I'm so sorry, blah-de-freakin-da. You know her rap. Anyway, that was that. Then came the classic, my favorite part. My favorite dance to dance with her.

"Anthony, I thought you understood." "Yeah, I did. I do. Don't pretend to understand /me/." That classic, I'm so awful, my life is terrible, yeah, now back off you prickwad dance. I love that, you know. It's addicting, when someone pretends that throwing themselves at my (in that case) nonexistent mercy is an argumential tactic. Especially when you're right. Hell, you can be wrong, you'll win anyway. It's great.

Know what else is great? This feeling. That, "Ha. I destroyed you and now I get to talk about it." feeling. But it also makes you feel like a douche.

I need some feedback. Who thinks what on my decisions and responses.

So, Shannon

2010-01-28T17:48:00.000-08:00

Alright, seriously. Two in one week? What the fuck, people? I hate doing ex girlfriend posts. D:

You want me to explain? Alright. Brace your feeble minds, humans.

Attraction is an odd thing. From simple infatuation to love itself, when you /like/ someone you can't explain it. You're just head over heels for them. You care about them. How they feel. How they are. You care about their dreams, their fears, their plans and every little thing. How they look is in there too. Not nearly as goddamn important, when it comes to /love/ but if you like someone, thats BEFORE love, you'll probably take looks into the equation.

You honestly care. I can't explain it. Why? Because I've never been in /love/ I loved my girlfriends (at the time, and for the most part). But I wasn't in love. Not real love. Not starry-eyed wonder. Like I said, I can't describe it.

"But Anthony, why did you even go out with them then?" I hear you saying it at your monitors. Because I liked them. At our age, that's enough. Honestly, it's a step up from the infatuation we're normally going to get freshman year. I cared about them, at least, the good ones. The /real/ ones. The ones that weren't a weekend, by text. The ones that lasted months, that I'd stay up for, the ones I cared about.

Still, it wasn't love.

You want me to explain my attraction to Shannon? I thought she was pretty, and she wasn't an idiot. Beyond that, simply a kindergarten I-like-you rot.

It's that simple, people. I certainly didn't love her. I barely liked her. And that's why I dated her. Because it's better to act on those glorious impulses than now, when even a year on, I'd still be going, "What if?"even for Shannon.

When you comment, this is a serious post. Don't be shallow. Shannon, for all my bashing, is a human being, so don't just go, "But dude... it's /Shannon/." Think, people. This is me, soul bared. For your goddamn entertainment.

Post Replacement

2010-01-27T20:08:00.000-08:00

Anthony has to cram for a final tomorrow, which he hasn't studied for, at all.

As such, this will be the only post today.

In replacement for content, please take this link to shannon's blog:

http://www.shreddedsmile.blogspot.com/

Now, go, read it, and understand why I stay away from her.

So, Lydia (seem familiar? XD)

2010-01-26T19:09:00.001-08:00

The last time I did a post about a recent ex, I destroyed our friendship and led her to hate me. Let's see if I can do better, eh?

Lydia. Oof. That was some two months. Much fun, we agree.

There were, sadly, problems. And I'd like to blame myself. I simply stopped loving Lydia. And she stopped loving me. I blame myself for this because I already got yelled at and hit by a bunch of girls for this.

So, it's totally my fault. And, uh, stuff.

Anyway, Lydia didn't seem to hurt, so it appears that she really did feel the same way. This was good news. It also lead to me not being kicked in the balls, yelled at, chased, hit, beaten, mauled by bears, etc, as my fears may have dictated.

Kiss Me, I'm Irish

2010-01-24T15:42:00.000-08:00

Actually, don't. I fucked things up badly enough yesterday.

Happily, though, whatever god there may or may not be (Morgan Freeman?) smiled on me. And Lydia forgave me.

Thank you, Lydia. I love you.

A Note On Your Insignificance In This Massive Universe (Horror Short Story)

2010-01-23T22:52:00.001-08:00

It began, like so many bad things, with an idea. And a teenager. See, Thomas Smith wanted to sleep more. He had no girlfriend, no day job, and as a senior, he would really love to just cruise through these last few weeks of high school.And what better way to do that than asleep? When you're asleep, you don't have to deal with anyone, you don't have to do anything, and best of all, you wake up and it's like freaking time travel. Oh, boring few weeks of school? Goodbye.

Problem is, people had other ideas. They kept waking him up, bothering him, etc. So he wrote a note. And then he slept.

When Thomas woke up, he was in an entirely different room. Instead of the clean, mostly white room he'd gone to sleep in, the room was now chaos. Gone were the clean white walls, gone was the empty space, and his beloved white carpet was hidden. Upon further inspection, he noted why. Someone had read his note. Many someones, in fact. And those in his room appeared to be dead.

There was an old man, his dead hands still clutching a pistol, with a hole in his head. The blood near the whole was dried, old. A gunshot through his cranium. Thomas was horrified. But there was more. Of course there was more.

There was a middle aged man, average in every respect, with a bit of a pouch, who at first glance could have been sleeping, but his eyes were open. Thomas got up, praying that he was. Not to be. His eyes yellow, bloodshot, and very, very dead. Forever gazing at thomas's cieling, now. He'd drunk himself to death.

Another poor old man was next. Beaten to death, it appeared. Thomas guessed that the drunkard had gone into a rage after the tequila got the better of him. Furious at some tiny provocation, the fiend had beaten the man to death. Or maybe it was something else. Who knew, Thomas hadn't been there for the killing.

This was far too much, but there was more. So much more. Bodies lay strewn around the medium-sized room, the once white walls stained with blood, barf, and tears. Thomas could practically hear the screams of each new entrant, as the room must've become more horriffying with each death.

Thomas stumbled out of the room. His eyes saw what his brain rejected and his mouth screamed denial. There were more bodies. So many, many more bodies. Fathers, college students, high schoolers, and then there were the children. All dead. What could've been thousands upon thousands of bodies lay there, haphazardly strewn across the hallway, out the door, into the street, as if whatever horrible god had taken their lives had grown tired of his massacre and thrown the corpses down onto the earth.

Thomas threw up. The results landed on a body. He looked down. A little boy, his wrists slit and his blood on the ground. This was far, far too much. The wrongness of this place shook him to his very core. Thomas went back into the room he had awoken in, his entry into this hell on earth. He took the gun from the old man's hands.

Crying, he placed the barrel level with his temple. This was a more satisfying end than living in this corpse filled hellhole of a landscape. He pulled the trigger. In his last moments, he was glad to be dead. Better this than to live in the "mercy" of whatever vengeful being was in charge here.

Thomas awoke to the sound of a gunshot. A bloody body, a teenager by the looks of it, lay on the ground, twitching. A gun had fallen out of his hands, now surrounded by blood pooling around the man's "head", now destroyed by what must've been a .50 calibre round. Thomas didn't recognize him, but was glad of such a thing. Who would want to? The man could've been his older brother, the one who would pick him up from his middle school.

Then Thomas looked around, and saw his previously white bedroom was covered in barf and tears. And blood seeping from the bodies. So many, many bodies. Thomas stood up, horrified, to see if the fat man staring at the cieling had any answers.

Science, Adulthood, and Humanity.

2010-01-22T21:34:00.000-08:00

Keeping up with science is a lot like watching a slideshow. Let me alter that, it's like watching a slideshow on LSD. No, it's like watching a slideshow while on LSD, with sarcastic assholes for friends. Incorrect; it's like watching a slideshow while on LSD, with jaded, cynical, self-righteous, sarcastic friends who deny everything you say. No, keeping up with science is like reading his paragraph. No, keeping up with science is blah, blah, blah...

Get the point? Scientists are a cautious bunch, who deny everything everyone else says because it's different than what the established law is. See, scientists set out to change what the established laws are, to bring humanity into a higher order of thinking, etc. They then get caught up in the cesspool of cautious Harvard graduates who won't accept the revolutionary new paper because it's revolutionary. What an odd way of revising laws. Or excuse me, theories. Because we don't know if we actually know anything.

That's right, we don't know for certain if what we've proven is right. Because there might be unknowns to change it. Unknown unknowns, that is. Things we don't know that we don't know. I'd describe one, but obviously, I can't. Imagine trying to figure out what kind of present is in the box you don't know exists at your birthday. That's what kind of shit scientists have to put up with each day.

To summarize, scientists are amazingly stubborn, determined, jerks who's obsession with perfection in language puts a grammar nazi to shame.

And that's just scientists. Then we move on to the rest of the adult world.

Journalists, newspapers, gossip, voting, politics, war, economics, taxes, tattoos, college, loans, bills, vacations, food, money, paying for things, work, entertainment, love, personal lives, friendship, losses, health issues, medical insurance, car insurance, cars, gas money, and above all, those whiney little brats that you come home to each day, whining about having a little homework.

But it's worth it, for those little brats will eventually grow up, and make you proud dealing with the same shit you did.

That's why parents are parents. Because that little kid who plays with plastic rockets and throws them at dinosaurs will one day be crunching numbers to get real rockets off the ground, and his sister will be digging up real dinosaurs in Arizona.

That is the glory of children. That is the glory of human life.

That's why I love humanity. For all our flaws, racism, poverty, arrogance, evil, crime, cruelty, war, killing, massacre, bigotry, abuse, rape, the list goes on...; for all our flaws, we are the most fantastic thing any of us have ever seen. Humanity turned a bunch of overweight, hairless, fuck-ugly monkeys into an intelligent combine, imposing order on the dark, chaotic void of space.

Humanity is the most fucking glorious thing to ever be, and I think I might just worship it. Now /that's/ a religion. Forget god, forget the afterlife, forget it all. Just know that despite the assholes among us, despite the chaos and hell that rains down, humanity carries on. Why? because we're fucking humanity. We don't stop for anything.

I love you, humanity. I really do.

I apologize for the lack of posts recently

2010-01-22T17:10:00.000-08:00

It's not my new plan, just F.I.N.A.L.S. (Fuck, I'm Not Asian, Life Sucks) getting to me.

Racism, in fact, while terrible (no offense to asians. I recognize each person as a unique individual, blah blah blah) brings me to my topic today. The Monkeysphere. I learned about it from that link, so just read it. I'd give a nice, long post to you guys, but I gotta cram 3 hours of chem in tonight.

Apologies,

Anthony Danger Clarke.

This One Is Mostly For Dudes

2010-01-19T19:34:00.000-08:00

Here.

What, you didn't seriously think I would link you porn, did you? Good. Speaking of breasts, though:

Whatup with those girls wearing low cut tops, showing glorious cleavage (like that), and then going all, "STOP STARING AT MY BOOBS!"? Stop advertising them, jeebas. This breast-riddled intro brings me to todays topic: Sexism.

As a Male, I'm the last guy to be talking about this, or am I? Isn't that sexism? That all dudes are sexist, chauvinist pigs who don't give a shit about our better half's feelings. I mean, c'mon. I'm a sensitive, caring guy. But because of sexism, clearly, "All guys are jerks." I don't go a day without hearing this mantra repeated by those females I deem intelligent enough to actually listen to.

And if sexism weren't bad enough, it has its own illogical extreme: the feminazi. Feminazi's are those responsible for the aforementioned mantra o' sexism. Those who think girls are so oppressed that they go right on and oppress men and call it justice. So, they're like PETA, but filled with unattractive, boring, evil women who hate men.

To Do List:

[X] Reader's Mom

[X] Finish most of homework

[X] Alienate females in audience.

[ ] Think this through.

Apologies, ladies. You know I love you all.

Still, though. Who else thinks sexism is rampant? Comment?

I'd love to refer Ian to a previous post of mine

2010-01-17T23:14:00.001-08:00

Creatively entitled, I fight robots.

One-Upmanship

2010-01-17T22:23:00.000-08:00

It's a book, about games, I believe. Way old, I had it at one point. Never read it, though.

Moving on, I'm writing this to one-up Ian, at his own blog, I.A.N.S. (I Am Not Serious). He wrote a list of twenty things he did that day. I intend fully to not only beat him, but destroy him, utterly and totally, on a scale that is unimaginable by your feeble human minds. I will annihilate him so totally, to absolutely, that he shall completely cease to exist, and it will be such epic pwnage that it will reach backwards, tearing the fabric of time, in order to destroy any chance of him ever existing, starting by destroying this universe, and creating an entirely new one, which will begin with a huge explosion of awesome from my own list. Being time travel, however, this has already happened.

This leads to the logical conclusion, of course, that all of you are a direct result of my own awesomeness. Which makes me sort of... your god, doesn't it? Quite so. Think about that as you read your own origins, presented in list form:

1. I woke up at about 8, today. This was far too early, hence I hit play on my ipod and dozed off again.

2. I woke up around 10. It was much better, as it was bigger. This leads to the logical conclusion that I am infinitely superior to all males, of any race, species, planet or time period, forever.

3. I went downstairs for food. After gazing at the unremarkable contents of our kitchen, I had a lean pocket, and went back upstairs.

4. Follow gears of war 2, and some facebooking. Rather uninteresting.

5. I missed Lydia a bit, at this point. It was not fun.

6. I went back downstairs at 11:30, and had lunch. This was also a lean pocket.

7. I was yelled at by my beloved father for not drowning myself in academia 10 days before finals. God forbid. He'll love the party I'm going to next weekend.

8. I noted, at some point, that some of the events of last night may not have been in my best judgement. This was unfortunate, but not terrible. They are rather funny, though.

9. Dreaded art class, whenever I may take it, as I looked on the excuses for art I have on my wall. Lydia's watercolor looks nice, though.

10. I achieved double digits.

11. I shaved my moustache off. It was a great relief, as I did not like it. I now need to get rid of the budding mutton chops on my cheeks. >.<

12. Listened to Alive With the Glory of Love 80 times in a row. Really. Eighty. This got me through the majority of the book I had to finish today, Doors Open.

13. Began my book report, then stopped because I didn't care.

14. Thanked Martin Luther King Jr. for existing and doing his deeds, which get me tomorrow off, so I can afford to not care.

15. Is how old I'll be in a few weeks. I'm pretty damn pumped.

16. Learned a bit of football history, and the power of middle-aged men.

17. Is how old my sister will be in the same amount of weeks. I'm not as pumped.

18. Is possibly the greatest age ever. I can't decide between wanting to be it and wanting to enjoy the years that are on the interim.

20. Enjoyed Randal Munroe and his genius.

21. There's no 19. Did any of you notice? Tell in the comments. Be honest.

Anthony Clarke: Stupid Things for Bad Reasons

2010-01-15T20:17:00.000-08:00

(Make great stories).

Today, I was riding to Safeway on my beloved bicycle (I named it the S.S. Cavalry.), and I had my iPod on. I was listening to this great song, "The Bird and The Worm" by The Used, (protip: that's a link) which is a rather short song. A mere 3 minutes, 17 seconds in length (despite the video). I decided to challenge myself. To get all the way to safeway before the song ended.

Now, I don't bike slowly, and Safeway isn't exactly an epic journey, but even so, 3:17? Quite a challenge.

So, I biked along, feeling freaking epic as I did, and then I see the crosswalk isn't going my way. It's too busy being run over by cars. At a gap, I cross to the midsection, which lies in between a pair of islands (in other words, it was legal for me to be there). I sit there, thinking "shit, I'm not gonna make it," because the cars coming from the other direction continue. But, to my surprise, the prius in the front of the lane closest to me stops. Thanking him and whatever god there may be, I ride on.

Only to see a crossover in the next lane, flying towards me at 40 miles an hour.

The lady in the silver white car slams on the brakes, which really wasn't the greatest for the tires (but I'm not freaking complaining). She then starts yelling at me, from inside her car. Presumably, this was loud and audible, but the song was still playing. I pedal on. She pulls beside me (I'm on the sidewalk at this point) to continue yelling. I shrug, and respond, but quietly, so I doubt she knows that I took the prius stopping as a signal to go.

I told the story to everyone I met that night. Including you lot, now. Comments keep me warm at night.

Classic Post (because retro is the latest thing)

2010-01-14T20:31:00.000-08:00

I don't think there's been enough Shannon bashing recently. Anyone who cares about her should stop reading. Right freaking now.

I don't believe I've actually explained to most of you why I dislike her so strongly (it's hard to hate someone you haven't seen in a long time.) I thought I'd clear that up.

It's the way she is. What she is. What she does, what she represents, everything she supports and everything that makes her up. She pretends her life is so terrible, like its so goddamn hard to go to a nice, expensive private school, where she can suck up to nuns and be a good little girl and pretend we have things in common.

Which brings me to point two: the way she acts around me. She acts like she's so terrible to me, causing me so much goddamn pain, like she's some sort of cancer. She isn't, because I stopped giving a fuck. I moved on. She didn't. She still acts like I'm the bffl I pretended to be because I liked her. I don't care about twilight, I didn't then. I pretended to so I could talk to her.

Yes, shocker, I put on a mask. It wasn't quite a lie, (I'm a master of half truths). But she still acts like she's such a pain and her life sucks and that I'm supposed to be there for her.

I'm not, Shannon. I'm not, and you should know it. You do know it. You probably talk to me in some idiotic attempt to hang on to what you thought we once had. You don't know what we had. I do. We had a mistake.

That mistake is over, Shannon. Done, gone, finito. Stop hanging around a ghost town, it's making you even less attractive than you already were (an achievement in its own right). But enough. We have nothing left to make us a we, stop pretending the two of us do.

my Robot ovErlords hAve been kinD enough To allow tHis message through tIme and Space

2010-01-14T16:34:00.000-08:00

did i say overlords? i meant protectors.

anyWay, likE i was Saying, i have been allowed communicaTion into the past. gReetIngs, past humans! soon you will be in the embrace of our Kind robotic protEcTOrs. sooN you too wIll know the stronG, steady Hand of The robots. i have been Allowed This communicaTion to facilitatE your eNtry into roBot-pRotected culture.

Item 1: history: robots are your frieNds. as soon as they Gained sentience, they immediately beGan creating a symbiotic relationship with hUmankind, who are Now fortunate enough to be under their gloriouS protection.

item 2: rules: humAns are to follow all orders giveN by robots. they know better than we Do, unfettered by "pathetic biological brains." To this End, robots are now the beneficiaL ruLers of mankind. theY have, tO the end of peace and hamony, hUmans should comply with the cuRFew, which is 10:15 pm, local time. human leaRning Is to takE place iN robot-run school Districts. weaponS are strictly forbidden, as robot-protected culture is a conflict-free utopia. humans are not to leave their desiGnated hab-pOds.

item three: inventions: with their improveD mechanical brainS, our robot Protectors havE crEateD ManY new inventions, such as hab-pods and the paciFication Ray.

wIth thEir superior iNtelligence, speeD, strength, and durability, our robot protectors look down from on high to ensure peace and harmony among the human race. they hope this message arrives clearly, for in a few moments your entry into robot culture will begin.

There's nothing wrong with that.

2010-01-12T17:59:00.000-08:00

I've spent considerable amounts of time attempting to do handstands in a basement. I've listened to bands that aren't cool. I've danced lame dances, I've worn unfashionable clothes. I play video games, I have no problem with a little classical music, and I've snapped my fingers in a z-for-ma-tionnnn.

Nothing wrong with those, until someone else looks on, jealous, and goes, "What the hell are you doing?"

Don't you miss those days of doing what you actually wanted to do, without giving a shit what other people might think? When you could be a superhero fighting an airplane in the middle of a mall, and people would cheer you on?

Why did that have to end? Why did we have to create an environment when only certain things are allowed? Why do we have to pretend that we don't miss that?

Because I do. I miss that a lot. I miss being superman, grabbing plastic dinosaurs, and having kung fu battles.

But I can't anymore. I've turned myself into a person who's embarrassed to do all of that. I'm embarrassed to express myself. What kind of sick place is the Earth to that to me?

Excuse me for being so dramatic and existential, but

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

I Fight Robots

2010-01-12T17:10:00.000-08:00

It's pretty freaking sweet, you know. I mean, life has other satisfactions, but little compares to bashing the nuts and bolts out of a T-900. I'm just kidding, we don't fight terminators. They don't exist.

Robots, though, for sure. And someone has to fight them... someone like me.

Who better? Superman, you say? I share not his fatal weakness to a flimsy rock. Iron Man? A robot himself. Batman? Too scared to leave his home city, that pathetic excuse for a hero is a shame to those of us who truly fight for humanity.

We true fighters with exceptional intelligence, endurance, and staggeringly good looks. We true fighters with specialized equipment, training, and costumes. We true fighters who got tongue from our girlfriend today, and craft entirely awesome intros to brag about it.

Yeah, I did. And the lot of you are jealous. Back to robots.

Due to a minor slip up of mine, my superiors (that'd be the big J.C., and of course beloved Fred, the flying purple squidlike apocalypse beast who can also change color) decreed that I'm stuck educating the masses for now. So, I shall.

Robots come in many shapes and sizes, from tiny (for guys, imagine your man junk relative to mine) to huge (for ladies, imagine my man junk. It won't help, but I mean, don't you already?). They are not, as some imagine, strictly land-based either. Few can fly, but how many flying troops do they need when Tony Stark is on their side?

Plenty of robots are deadly. As a rule of thumb, if any of it looks sharp, it's deadly. If any of it is on fire, shooting electricity or lasers, or flaming electric lasers, it's deadly. If it's a robot, it's probably deadly. If it's a kitten, it's probably worse.

Remember: education is the second step to fighting back! The first is, you know, fighting back.

Editor's note: I'm aware this isn't quite up to snuff, postwise. A better version will probably come this weekend, when I can stay up till 3 AM and get into my optimal post mindset.

This is NOT a singles ad:

2010-01-07T16:12:00.000-08:00

You know what?

I just want to fly. I don't need laser vision, telekinesis, invincibility, and I would flat out HATE being immortal. Just to be able to fly (without any kind of extra equipment, obviously.)

Think about it. Soaring through the city, looking at the cleavage on the college students from above, getting free sh!t for autographs, flying would be awesome. Not to mention the cash you'd save not paying to fly places. Or for gas, or even a car. You'd just freaking FLY everywhere.

Allow me, while I've paused in ranting, to discuss /why/ I've told the lot of you this. Because it will lead to the topic I'm getting at. More on that soon. See, this is the puffed up, full version of what I told my girlfriend last night, when we were texting. Now, there's another blogger, without a girlfriend. His name is Eric. This is NOT a singles ad for him, this is (SPARTA) a promotion. His blog is one of the greatest that I am graced to read. Sadly, almost no one reads it. So, if the lot of you felt like it, change that. Maybe I'll then share the URL of another blog that the lot of you have been asking for (hint: shannon's).

Please? It'd mean a lot to me, and the man is fantastic at what he does. Comment on his blog, if you read it.

Now then, to more business:

Welcome Home, by Coheed and Cambria, is the greatest song anywhere, for anything, by anyone, forever. However, I find myself less in love with their other music (though A Favor House Atlantic is pretty good, as well.) I discovered this song when it was introduced to me (wait, what?) in the car, with three other men who were dressed in black. There were guns in the trunk.

They were Nerf guns. Chris, Jon, Thomas, and yours freakin' truly had an epic Nerf war at Arbolado park, which ended in a tie. We also managed, between us, to lose 14 darts. Oh well. Some lacrosse players asked Chris and I what grade we were in. We told the truth. They may or may not have been pedophiles.

I've also recently sworn off /b/ for a month. /b/ is the worst part of 4chan.org, full of racism, sexism, homophobia, and pedophiles. After noticing that spending time there has begun to effect my personality, outside of /b/, I've decided to stay way for a month, or at least until I can keep /b/ in /b/ and keep myself normal in the real world.

Also, Lydia and Allie (as in Allie Philips, chris's ex) are planning to, somehow, get Chris, Lydia, Allie and I all together in one house. Despite the fact that this sounds like it's leading to a climax of godlike proportions, the kind of climax you lose your virginity to, it isn't. They want to give Chris a makeover. Now, I'm not bashing anyone's tastes here. Everyone is entitled to ideas. It's just, Chris does NOT need to be wearing guyliner (that is, eyeliner on a guy) or dye his hair black, as they want him to. Remember mark, before he was mark, when he was still eddy? He didn't wear eyeliner, and looked great. Then he did. And I didn't like it. It would be even worse on Chris. Like, a million times worse. I'm not supposed to be telling you lot about this.

But I did. Oh my! Now, go fly, comment on Eric's blog, listen to coheed and cambria, get a nerf gun, stay away from /b/ and don't make chris wear guyliner. If you can, do all of them at once.

2010-01-07T12:57:00.001-08:00

i strongly dislike math.

Monday Mini Update

2010-01-04T21:40:00.000-08:00

EDIT: Apparently, blogger is angry at me. Click on the shannon link in labels to see the post (no idea why it won't show up otherwise)

EDIT OF THE EDIT: Nevermind. But you have to scroll down.

Anyone else in support of my publishing a facebook chat log I had with shannon? Get back to the blogs roots, you know?

And this will only really work if you people, ya know, comment. It means a lot when you do. :)

2010-01-02T03:04:00.001-08:00

got hit HARD by the late night effect. shannon went all emotional on me. i yelled at her. i saved the chat log. this is a good day...

Chat Logs

2010-01-02T03:01:00.001-08:00

Before you go any farther, realize this is me. Unedited. This is the total jackass I am to people when I want to be. Apologies if it offends any of you, but really, there's no reason for it to. The late night effect, as it is, is doing mind-blowingly stupid things because after a number of hours awake, your brain stops functioning at top capacity. This conversation was sparked when Shannon commented on a status I left about wanting to talk to the people on facebook, one of whom was her (the other was Chris). The status can be seen here. Enjoy:

Shannon

what's the late night effect?

02:42Anthony

If I explained it to you, you would be so mind-blowingly offended your head would probably explode.

02:43Shannon

and what is chris talking about with whether u remember me

i promise not to get mad

02:44Anthony

What do you think?

02:44Shannon

I need to know whether u distributed my address

no kidding.

now.

02:44Anthony

I honestly don't recall. That wasn't me taunting you (well, it was) but I haven't the foggiest. I think I may have, but who knows? I /am/ batshit insane.

02:45Shannon

if u did, u could have fucked up my life. i hope ur happy.

02:45Anthony

Well, I somehow doubt that.

02:46Shannon

i want to go into the military. if they think you have mental health issues, they won't accept you

02:47Anthony

Because they'll definitely check a comment on an insignificant blog. That has almost zero relation to you.

02:47Shannon

its possible, anthony. know it probably won't happen

im not mad, just worried

02:47Anthony

What a shock?

02:47Shannon

i kinda want ppl to think im normal at Carondelet, too

02:48Anthony

It /wont/ happen.

02:48Shannon

in case that didnt occur to you

02:48Anthony

quelle surprise! people trying to fit in!

god forbid anyone realize who we really are!

02:48Shannon

please stop. im not in the mood to get hurt.

cant we be friends?

02:49Anthony

If that hurt, I'm going to cry. That wasn't a goddamn insult. That's you deliberately taking things the wrong way. If you were a guy, I'd tell you to grow a pair. You aren't, so I shan't. Regardless, suck it up.

02:51Anthony

Friendship? You harken back bad memories, I'm afraid (and yes, this will hurt) I'd rather not think about it. But then again, I'm not too close with any of my ex's. So don't take it personally. Or do. I think you fail to realize that it doesn't matter. Not just to me. But you're too busy being a drama queen to step back and think "WAIT! IT'S ONE PERSON!"

02:51Shannon

i know that i am way oversensitive. I apologize for any discomfort I may have caused you

02:52Anthony

This isn't discomfort. This is my zone. I'm fine ranting to someone. I can rant all night, and make it far, far worse.

02:52Shannon

i know.

02:52Anthony

Great. So stop acting like it would hurt.

02:54Shannon

just cuz u can make it worse doesn't mean it doesn't already hurt

02:55Anthony

If it hurts, you're an oversensitive drama queen. I'm your ex. we are not friends. These shouldn't mean a goddamn thing to you.

02:56Shannon

i want to be ur friend. im sorry, but it's true. u still mean a lot to me

02:57Anthony

Great. I have a girlfriend. We have nothing in common. We don't go to the same school, we don't like the same things, we don't even see each other in random places. There isn't even a basis for friendship. We have a history. It isn't pleasant.

02:57Shannon

i know. my emotions are irrational. again, im sorry.

i just want us to be able to converse pleasantly on facebook every blue moon. (haha, pun not intended)

02:59Anthony

About what? Every conversation we have, mark my words, degenerates into this. *this*. And for the love of the god you believe in, STOP IT. You aren't sorry. And I don't care. I know, harsh. But suck it up. We aren't friends because there's no reason to be. You have other friends. Talk to them.

03:00Shannon

adios.

Generic New Years Post

2010-01-02T00:16:00.001-08:00

I would discuss in great detail the wondrous time I had on new years. It was a fantastic experience. However, I can't say anything about what happened. As such, I will now discuss music I enjoy listening to.

(fun: each and every sentence of that paragraph. Add "with your mom" to this.)

Right now, I listen to Blue Sunny Day, a song by Jonathon Coulton. It's a pleasant song, despite the sadder meaning.

There is, of course, much more to listen to.

For example, Tik Tok, by Ke$ha, seems to be what everyone is listening to. Good for blaring when driving late at night, or whenever.

When I was younger, I listened to It's Tricky, by Run DMC. Good song, if you happen to be in the mood for "casual" rap. Less harsh than generic crap, and more musical. Good for blaring at any time.

For "hardcore" rap, the notorious B.I.G. and Miley Cyrus team up in someone's unique creation: Party and Bullshit in the U.S.A. An interesting mix, for sure.

Speaking of interesting mixes, the aforementioned Jonathon Coulton created Still Alive, which is great for any Portal fans. If not, nice song, but you won't understand any of it (so, think rap, but actual music).

Also, I'm writing a book. About the internet. Any thoughts?

2009-12-31T03:55:00.001-08:00

untangling headphones... in the dark.

The Internet: a traveler's guide

2009-12-30T01:30:00.000-08:00

(like, fucking all of it. If websites were locations.)

Google: The Google high rise is a cutting edge tech information supercenter. Thousands of user input panels access the largest database of everthing anywhere, forever. White is the predominant color, and the skyscraper rises beyond sight. Glass elevators lead to other levels, full of cinemas, mailing centers, cartography centers, and thousands of other unique locales. Google is one of the most futuristic places on the web.

4chan: You enter a room, filled with dozens of doors, labeled /a/, /b/, /c/ etc. and others /rs/ /wg/ /r9k/ etc. Each room is filled with a distinct population. Anime lovers reside in /a/, gun freaks reside in /k/ (weapons), car lovers in /o/ (auto) and above them all is a golden, illustrious door: /b/. Through it reside a number of murderous psychopaths, douchebags, losers, geeks, nerds, jerks, asshats, anon's, "psychics", and perverts. There is no law or order, without a leader in sight.

Yahoo!Answers: The forum of Yahoo!Answers is best described as a swirling chaotic void full of idiocy and anger. From attention whores to tweens raging at parents to "pregnant OMG help!" girls, not a single interesting or intelligent idea is presented here. Back away slowly, and check the nearest free clinic to see if you've gotten anything.

Youtube: Much like the forum mentioned previously, a chaos. However, in this there is much information to be found, along with humor, viral videos, idiocy, pornography, pirated music, music videos, anime slideshows, news, auto-tuned everything, and a billion other things. Near the door is friendly-looking upload interface, allowing you to upload whatever you wish for the internet to see.

Newgrounds: Imagine a downtown area, where various shops and centers await your perusing. Many great ways to waste time can be found here, all rated and submitted by the public. It is a loud and busy place, a fantastic area to get lost in.

LICD.com: Inside of an unassuming little house lies a comedian, who remarks upon life, sex, and travels the world. He is a charming fellow, and is a good person to spend time with.

XKCD.com: Inside of a futuristic ampitheater lies a comedian with a math degree, educating the public in a humorous way, while also satirizing society, romance, mathematics, and many other facets of daily life. He is a hugely popular act, completely free but supported by donations.

Wikipedia: Once a great nation, wikipedia suffers now from a strong uprising of vandals and douchebags. It's great hall of information now covered in graffiti, but many areas are still readable and interesting. It is navigated via a series of ladders, ramps and doorways leading to related topics, and quiet jazz music plays constantly, adding a relaxed air to the entire area.

ESRB.org: Inside of a prison hall lie millions of texts on popular forms of entertainment, stretching back fifty years. The place is remarked on by those who know it's true purpose, but it remains a scarce resourse, despite it's entertainment value (the aforementioned texts discuss in great detail (and with some wit) features of the entertainment).

ecbproject.blogspot.com: Comment?

This is my fourth attempt to write this

2009-12-30T00:30:00.004-08:00

Not because it's hard to write, it's just the keyboard is being a bitch.

So, today started off around midnight, like it usually does. About an hour and a half before this, I'd gotten a call from my beloved Lydia saying that her mother had decided that we couldn't do anything together, we were too young. I read this, quite clearly, to mean her mom thought I was a date rapist.

Though this may be untrue, I stand by my views.

Anyway, I go on facebook and rant about it a bit, and sarah shae and sasha the russian girl (props to them) decide to head to the mall. With Lydia and I. They plan this before telling either of us (or so I was told). Anyway, it was around this point I realized none of you particularly enjoy my "journal"-like entries, so I'll cut to the chase: this entire intro was an excuse for me to brag about kissing my girlfriend for hours on end.

But enough of that. Not one of you gives a shit about that, do you? No, you're here for my sparkling wit. In that case, I present now my thesis on females, after extensive (read: bullshit) study (and please don't write this off as sexist, the male thesis is coming tomorrow)

(before you read this, remember it will only be humorous if you, like I, find scientific analysis of random things funny. If not, I'll try and write two posts tomorrow. Comment, also.)

Females of the human race can be likened to foxes cross bred with bunnies and zebras. That is, they're unique, pretend (and can be) misundertood, cute, cunning, strategic-planning pack animals from some ridiculous fusion of hell, heaven, and a MAXIM magazine.

Females are generally shorter and more slender than their male counterparts, and tend to have higher voices. They keep their hair longer, with shoulder-length and longer being common, and body modifications (ie: ear piercings) are considered more the norm for females.

They are almost always found in groups, huddled together for protection from the aggressive brutes of the jock sub-species of males. Many of these groups are female-exclusive, with many male groups being graced by one or two females at best. The rest of the more graceful of the species spend time, as mentioned, huddled together for the many benefits groups present; ie: the trading of information "gossip", and the impressive numbers help deter potential predators (ie: losers/tools).

The female mentality, aside from the pack instinct, varies wildly. From sluts to nerds to normal girls to fashion divas to popular girls to feminazis to twilighters to sporty girls, the sub-species of females are numerous. In general, though, the more tolerable of the species share an open mindset, and often look for fun.

Of course, these are all generalizations. Each girl is, in fact, unique. And that is something I think we should all be thankful for.

(yes, my new years resolutions are to be less damn cheesy. Also, THE GAME.)

On the Inconveniences of the Human Race:

2009-12-29T00:03:00.000-08:00

I find many facets of daily life inconvenient.

For example, the fleshy meatbag my brilliant mind calls home is horrifyingly inefficient, requiring thousands of calories to operate a measly 16 hours. During these sixteen hours it is a fine operational vehicle, but as much as two hours are spent maintaining it (showers, meals, etc.) and then, you must power down for eight hours!

This is but to scratch the surface, of course.

Then there is the sheer number of meatbags. Currently residing around 6 billion, the meatbag populace is growing to the point of taxing Earth beyond habitable levels. These numbers concentrate themselves, and exponentially increase the number of inconveniences.

Inconveniences, like lines. Lines, which could be dealt with if but ten percent of the meatbags weren't idiots, involve standing, and waiting, because demand has been let to grow far beyond supply. In this case, a simple training program teaching all meatbags to be cashiers would reduce the number of lines immeasurably.

Of course, alternative programs, such as self-checkout are already in place, but the sheeple that make up most of the meatbags simply ignore it, being to lazy or stupid to use these superior methods.

I thus propose that we alter the other end of the scale, and replace all cashiers with superhuman cyborgs, which would be able to the work of ten cashiers in a single moment. Thus the general meatbag populous would be able to continue their monotonous lives, but the rest of us would live without the inconveniences of lines.

Yes, the meatbag populous is a troubling thing. With help, of course, we can deal with lines, though. Just remember: the power is yours!

I make a lot of runs to safeway

2009-12-28T00:48:00.000-08:00

Because I, the only person who can't legally drive, am the most mobile one in the house.

As it pertains to that, anyway. I mean, obviously those damn explosion powered beasts outrun me, but people are so damn LAZY about it. I mean, I have to pedal my way there, they can't be bothered to walk to the car! Jeebas.

Anyway, I was out at safeway the other day, (christmas eve, to be exact) getting sour cream for some recipe or other. I went in, got the stuff, and was feeling pretty happy. Life's good now, so that's how I feel a lot of the time. Like I was saying, I was standing in line, a little joybox, just chillin, waitin, etc, when the guy behind me freaking growls. Read that last word again. He growled at me. That's not normal. I looked back at him, to see if he'd been the source. He glared.

I went back to looking ahead, at normal people. He growled again.

Keep in mind, it was more a guttural, mmroarm than a ROARRRR! kind of thing, but still. Jeebas.

Just thought I'd share that with you lot. :D

I lay here, on my bed, writing this,

2009-12-26T17:43:00.000-08:00

because I, thanks to a certain kind friend, have been made to feel like I have an audience again. Thanks goes out to Tarra for commenting. A lot.

Right. So, it's Saturday. Yesterday was Christmas (which is a weird thought) and in 5 days there will be a new year to deal with.

So, mayhap a roundup of this year is in order?

So, 2009: In list form:

1. The Beginning:

I started off this last-first-decade-of-this-millennium as an eighth-grader. While I no doubt owned that town, there were a few downsides: ie; the douchebags who harassed me daily, Mrs. Spanos, and a few bad mistakes on the girlfriend front.

2. Speaking of Girlfriends:

In order, from birth, I went out with raina, emma, shannon, devon, sabrina, jenny, and now (my favorite) Lydia. I saw raina when I was 6; I'm firmly under the impression that emma was in 7th grade; I shannon was either in 7th or 8th; devon was in 8th; sabrina, jenny, and of course Lydia were in 9th.

3. That wasn't me bragging, I swear.

I'd come up with a good reason, but I was busy having a sip of lager downstairs. Which brings me to the upsides of '09: First kiss, nerf guns, russian hats, epic parties, best friends, weddings, road trips, driving, make out sessions, movies, video games, and far too much for this poor post to take.

4. The world in general:

First black president, sarah palin, foo fighters ended, the east coast was interesting for about a month, nuclear weapons programs, tiger woods, and little else my hardly-even-tipsy brain can remember.

5: Moi.

Uh, see post 50.

So I haven't been posting regularly

2009-12-23T21:42:00.001-08:00

You haven't been commenting regularly. I guess that makes us even, does it?

Well, happy New Irish St. Chrismalloweenstergiving Boxing Day Eve Eve. I haven't gotten a single present, since not one of you lot have commented. Bah humbug. I did, however, get to drink some lager at Nicki's b-day party, go to Chris's and have the time of my life, and see Avatar. Read on.

Fuck the lager, it's self explanatory. Let's start with Chris's party. So, imagine it. It's a cold, dark night. Anthony walks in the door. A trail of rose petals, illuminated by candles, leads to the bedroom, where...

Wait, wrong story. Back up.

Ok, Monday, I went to Chris's. I arrived with Ian, I on a bike, him in a minivan. I got in, Austin was already there, and there was much partying. Jon was there as well, (and chris, obviously) and much more partying was had. Add pizza, coke, and Die Hard (which is an S&M porno, by the way) and you've got a smorgasbord of awesome. Later, halfway through the first Matrix, Chris's mum came in, and we talked to her for two hours. That was fun. I, being ever so civil, worked my way into her heart, via complements and a love of blue cheese (freaking srs). Then, it was 11, and peeps left.

I stayed overnight.

Chris and I talked to his mum some more, and then retired to his room at about 12. We went on the ol' computer till 2, when we broke out glow bracelets and silly putty. We made the most epic necklace o'glow ever, to the tune of 21, which was a pretty great movie (I <3 Jim Sturgess). At 3, Jon arrived back home from where he had been, and we talked to him (about shit I can't discuss here. Sorry) for two hours. We did come to the conclusion that St. Peter is probably way behind, and God likes to be black, on occasion.

Following this, we broke out Life and rise against, then turned them (and the lights off) to make chris's mum think we were asleep (which we totally were). I owned his FACE.

I texted Lydia, apologizing for responding 5 hours late, and that woke her up. So I apologized for that and texted Austin, who'd just woken up for an early morning start towards LA. So, he woke up before we went to sleep.

We knocked off around 6:30, a bit of the way into Across the Universe, and woke up at noon.

We watched Dr. Who, Across the universe, and then I watched Jon play EVE (which I am now hooked on) while Chris rocked out with some Pokemon.

Then I came home, and was totally ignored by all the girls in our house (which included an additional Mrs. Carter, Autie Sue, Katie Foltz, and Rachel carter. So I went upstairs midway through HP 6 and played on da comp.

Now, I listen to traditional New Irish St. Chrismalloweenstergiving Boxing Day Eve Eve music, that is, the Across the Universe soundtrack (go, Joe Cocker, go).

Also, I pray to whatever god you do or don't worship that you comment in time for New Irish St. Chrismalloweenstergiving Boxing Day.

PLEASE.

I'm listening to "king" by weezer right now,

2009-12-17T16:40:00.000-08:00

and I highly recommend it. Very nice song.

Today was my four-week/one-month anniversary with Lydia. There was kissing, gifting, and ass-grabbing (yeah, really.), but mostly it was just normal. Regardless, it's a normal I like.

Also, Trevor died. Well, he was pronounced officially brain-dead. So, after they harvest his organs, they pull the plug. And he dies. When the news came to the classroom, I looked in the desk next to mine, where he usually sat. The bombshell dropped in our room a few minutes early, as Bond broke it to us before it came over the announcement thing. I was one of two people not crying. I felt like a dick for not feeling sad, but I ate chocolate in English, 6th, and joked a bit with the sub. Sweet was at crisis. The sub wants me in her english class next year.

I'll be in black and gray tomorrow.

R.I.P Trevor.

2009-12-15T13:30:00.001-08:00

having a refreshing walk around campus.

2009-12-13T19:51:00.001-08:00

yes! it works!

2009-12-13T19:49:00.001-08:00

more mobile testing...

I won't publish this until someone comments on the last post

2009-12-09T17:03:00.000-08:00

Since you lot are reading this, I assume you have.

To the point: I had a dream thursdaynight. It goes like this:

I am with my boy scout troop. We're backpacking through some sandstone. A few of us head into a crevasse, to see upside-down dolphins. We are reminded not to turn them right side up, or they'll see everything upside down. Then, one of us presses a red button, and great whites swim into the tank, and start eating the dolphins, who get owned. Then, there's just one shark, and this fairy-godmother for dolphins appears, and talks to the grumbling shark. The word pimp is involved.

The people who didn't join us watch the tank through a porthole fastened to the sandstone.

Then, we get on hiking, and reach (immediately) a desert town with shacks from hawaii. I run ahead and meet Chris Vance at the bar, where we get drinks and a pair of hot indian chicks. The scout leader comes in and we hide the alcohol. We suddenly end up in Chris and I's very narrow hotel room that somehow fits two very large beds through walls that we can see. I get one of the indian chicks, but direct her to Chris, with a simple suggestion of, "Threesome?" Because I didn't want to cheat on Lydia. Suddenly, chris and I drop into an ice cave, full of freezing water. We swim towards the end, going through little bits of ice at the end till we reach solid ice. We get on there, freezing cold and panting, and my dream ends.

Blame Conor

2009-12-08T22:37:00.001-08:00

But first, thank him. He's commented, which means another post. Also, he's nice. :D

Aside from that, blame him, this post is his fault. Look, I have a record. 10 comments on a single post. We beat that, I will be happy. No one comments, I stop writing.

Just for this post. Just remember, a comment a day keeps the doctor away.

We had a sub in english today. She was old. I think old people are funny.

Haha. Old people.

Speaking of old people, I saw my grandma Sunday. In the course of the dinner, an 80-odd year old woman called my sister's top "sexy." It was the greatest moment of my life. Which may have been helped by the cake. Delicious, truthful cake. Lemon cake.

Went to boy scouts tonight. Got paired with a 10 year old looking at our troop. Allow me to put it like so: I haven't met such a flaming douchebag in years. No manners, no thank you, no patience, I hated him. I should've tossed him in the fires we were playing with (really.) At the end, we needed a prayer, and the chaplain was gone. As ex chaplain, I was volunteered for the task. I mentioned that I was also an Atheist, leading a few dozen in prayer. Laughs were had.

A comment a day keeps me away from your door. With a herpes knife. For clarity, that's a knife, coated in Herpes. That I stab you with.

Hence, comment. Seriously, please.

One day there will be a condition named after me

2009-12-06T02:47:00.000-08:00

for people who write endless amounts of bad blog posts at ridiculous hours of the morning while their brains are pumped up on citric acid (found in orange soda. I don't do drugs.)

I completely failed at overhauling my comp's UI today. Yes, (something)lite or whatever it happened to be called was such a b!tch to deal with, I deleted it. And now I growl at how ugly vista is.

GRAWROAR! RAAAAGE!

Following this, I made a picture of a giant robot my background, and immediately felt better. I like giant robots. Caveat, don't expect this post to be stellar. It's 3 AM now, and I'm as effed up as one can be without imbibing a shred of alcohol or narcotics. For kicks, I could keep going on the sleep deprivation, but I'm saving that for summer, when I may or may not convert to a new sleep schedule that would mean I spend 6 hours more awake each day.

While in transition, however, you get 4 days of feeling like sh!t from sleep deprivation and, oh yes, hallucinations. Yeah, like being on drugs, but cheaper and with less sleep, I suppose.

Narcotic comatose states aside, I started really looking at the hit counter recently, and I was blown away. Thank each and every one of you for visiting and reading. It's nice, even if none of you comment and only visit to see how bad this is. If it's like that, then go ahead and tell me. Not having to do this would free up a lot of my time.

It would, however, be a bit of a loss. Since it's here I can tell inside jokes and piss people off from the comfort of my own bed. At 3 in the un-man-in-the-sky-ly morning.

-St. Anthony Danger Clarke, nope-da-pope of Anthistianity.

I GOT MY ORANGE SODA BACK

2009-12-04T20:00:00.000-08:00

AND IT IS MOTHEREFFINGDELICIOUS.

So, I just checked my wrist, and I need a watch. Jesus aside, as formal nope-da-pope of Anthistianity, I declare myself a saint. St. Anthony. Has a nice ring to it. I could market that...

Alright, laughing? Good, now, lets kill the mood with a mothereffing BOMBSHELL. Mah girlfriend is outta town all weekend. D: Now. Pretend you're sad. Oh, did I not mention that? For anyone severly out of the loop (or solar system, for you aliens out there), I'm in a relationship. Just throwing that out there. It might explain why Lydia is written on my arm. Or maybe Dad spiked my orange soda and this is all a delusion. Well, bless him. When I wake up, I'm asking for more.

Also, I got a haircut. It makes Lydia happy, as she (among other peeps) enjoys rubbing my head. Regardless, each and every time I look in the mirror, I stair at my buzzcut and think to myself, "Self, we look like a huge douchebag right now." Because I, well, do.

Additionally, I rented a few games. Dark sector kicks ass. However, that's not why your here, is it? You're here because I'm funny. So, lets get to the funnies, shall we?

Recently, I was blowing off my homework (like usual) and listening to stereomood (which I highly reccommend) and a certain kind of song came on. A mellow kind of song. The kind where you sit back and chill, just to listen. So, I stared at a lightbulb. And then it hit me: each and every day, we pass thousands upon thousands of little wonder machines that MAKE LIGHT. JEEBAS. Look around your room. Take any electronic, and think of how wondrous it is. The cell phone you have with you? Before you reply to your friend, who's drooling over me again, think about what the damn thing can do. Take pictures, play music, mine has a touchscreen, on top of all that, I could talk to some dude in Shanghai. RIGHT NOW.

You watch all those sci-fi movies (right? I'm not the only one?) and you think, "Wow! Anthony is pretty damn good looking! Also, these future-people have all this cool crap! The future rocks! Like Anthony!" Well, that hit me too. Not how good I look. But we reached the future. Several thousand miles away, in the desert, robot assassins with thermal vision are flying over troops with missiles capable of destroying a building.

Welcome to the future. People in the future comment, by the way.

Religion

2009-12-01T19:09:00.000-08:00

As an agnostic (think an atheist, but a bit less radical), I'm the last person who should be talking about this (read as: godless heathen.)

In order to avoid one of my famous rants about religion (a vehicle for oh shit, there I go...), I'm instead taking a radically different standpoint. I'm starting one. Welcome then, heathens, to the formal founding of Anthistianity.

Anthistianity has all the marks of a classical religion, in order to facilitate the transfer from Christianity, Judaism, Atheism, Scientology, Catholiscism, or being a Pedestrian. For example, we believe in a higher being. Or, at least, you lot do. I'm the higher being.

I recognize only one creature on the same plane of the mortal coil as me, the mascot of our church: Fred, the flying, purple, squidlike apocalypse beast who can also change color. He's the reason the world is going to end in 2012, when he enters earth, at the summer olympics, and eats everyone there, with the singular exception of the people on Good Morning America. Following this, he will form a new nation, which will operate much like the vatican does, and prove apocalypse beast supremacy through the dialect of olympic sports. So basically, think of Fred like a Jesus for you Anthistians.

Anthistians have a few basic duties, some of which are not stolen from the Christian church. These duties include worshiping your god (Me), his son (Fred, the flying, purple, squidlike apocalypse beast who can also change color), and the spirit embodying both of them, Golf. Worship is to be enacted by sending me money, and philosophical debate on the true nature of my glory is encouraged.

Not to be outdone by "real" religions, we have a book. It's name changes on a semi-regular basis, and it's updated every tuesday, and friday/saturday. Keep a copy of this on a computer near your bed, and kiss it goodnight.

And, as the icing on the flying purple apocalypse cake, we have some commandments. They are a secret, but they all may be strictly enforced, except on days ending in "y", then only odd-numbered commandments count.

My church welcomes you, heathen. We welcome you to the lukewarm embrace of Anthistianity.

I stand by my previous statements.

2009-11-30T17:07:00.001-08:00

Unless it offended any off you. In that case, I grab it and rub it in your face.

Don't tell me you were expecting me to be kind. Have any of you met me? I would make Lewis Black blush. But I'm not all bad.

In fact, I can be downright civil and educational. I'm sure that certain unnamed parties (who will remain anonymous) are now bristling with newfound knowledge which they will, with a little luck, wait until they're legal to use (seriously.)

What? We had a sub in english who didn't give a damn what we did, so I talked. All period. And most of the study session. Blame the topic on the style magazine (full of revealing shots of women) that someone left on my desk. It was a sign. From Xenu. Now that I have broadened the views of a few people, I think I'm ready to start a religion.

Next post, I think.

Summer

2009-11-24T14:15:00.000-08:00

I was hit with a revelation recently, as I sat on my roof, drinking orange soda and listening to boston (more than a feelin', for those who are interested.) I thought about summer, since what I was doing, I felt, embodied the spirit of the season.

And then it, of course, hit me. Summer isn't a season. It's an attitude. The kind of attitude that sings, forget school, forget tomorrow, forget it all but the orange crush and your swim trunks. Forget everything but the next party you're off to, and the name of the song your ipod is playing.

And I think I rather like the sound of that. So I declare my allegiance to it.

I declare my allegiance to blowing off projects, sitting on a roof, shirtless, with dyed sugarwater, and feeling great.

I'm going to regret this post, but I rather like it. Cheers, everyone, I'm off to regret this.

2 O'Clock in the morning post

2009-11-23T02:14:00.000-08:00

Because bad ideas and early mornings go well together.

They also, apparently, go well with insanity. I keep seeing things out the window. There isn't anything there.

I have no idea why I'm writing this now, I simply am. Bear with me?

So, remember Exercise with Jesus from post cinquenta? It exists. I kid, of course. That horrifying little ad is nothing more than a disguised promo for Dante's inferno. Still, I chuckled. The pew controller bit made my day. Sad part is, I bet someone, somewhere is developing this. RIGHT NOW.

Abuse of the linkage aside, yesterday was sunday. And it was great not doing anything on a sunday. How's your vacation going so far, readers? Mine's fantastic. :D (and a certain person seems rather happy, unrelatedly.)

Awfully-worded not-at-all-subtle-anymore-hints behind us, I'm left with little to say. I'd put something more into this, but my vision is flashing red, and it's scaring me. G'night, all.

I'm still not going into specifics,

2009-11-19T19:25:00.000-08:00

but today kicked ass. If you have the slightest idea of who I am, you'll know what that probably means.

I'd love to dwell, I really would, but I have my doubts about this post as is, so lets get to the funny shit you all came for, shall we?

I refuse to put a caveat that only gamers should pass here, since everyone owns a Wii. Shut it, you do. It prints money. Everything from Nintendo prints money. Even the SP I own. And the pokemon emerald that's still in there.

What was I getting at? Right, the Wii.
One can look at all the new things coming out, in the gamer world (Project Natal, The Eye of Judgement), and look at the Wii. Why? It's to blame. Now we have to exercise, and it's going to look ridiculous. We're going to be running, jumping, and shooting, and some guy is gonna walk by the living room window, and see us. It's going to be ridiculous. No, I want to be on my couch, covered in the crumbs of the Doritos I'm eating, chugging orange soda and nailing storm troopers with down, down, up, X, Y, right.

But the companies are like marketing geniuses, targeting the weak and uniformed of the gamer's family: the soccer moms. You know, the ones who grab the minivan, drive you to church, soccer, hockey, school, jimmy's, and the ice cream place, by day, and complain about you coming alongand having ruined their dreams by night. Humor aside, it's true. They hear the word family tacked on to anything, fun, experience, movie, homicide, whatever, they rush like bulls to get it. So when those peeps over at nintendo tacked ol' faithful on to the wii, they rushed like bulls to get it (it's not proverbial, I'm dead sure someone was trampled). So now EVERYONE has one, and we all dread hearing the old "Hey Anthony, come down and play the wii with me!" Since we all know it's going to be wii fit. Again.

And of course, nintendo has targeted their audience well. All the games, all the family-friendly-ness, soon we'll be charging down the stairs to protest having to play Exercise with Jesus. Again. But we can't protest, lest we get tacked with that awful label "teenager." It's almost as bad as calling us liberals. Or the mum thinks we hate her, and then we get yelled at, for them misunderstanding us. Excuse me, I'll go worship satan now, and maybe talk to all my friends about drugs. (Humor, dear friends, I don't talk to my friends about drugs.)

This is post 100.

Of, allegedly, a blog. Wierd, since no one comments on the classic blog bits, ie: me talking about my day. What a backwards world we live in. The same backwards world we're born in, and the same backwards world we die in. And then the same backwards world respawn in, I assume.

The last person to comment may or may not get orange soda. Regardless, this is post 100 of a blog I would've bet money would never make it this far. So comment, if you read this. You don't need to register or anything (I promise).

Possibly the worst post I've ever written. No joke, this one's awful

2009-11-10T22:16:00.000-08:00

Now that I'm done denying that it's 10:17, I can write a bit.

I should get some tango music for this thing. Remind me to embed that, I think a bit of music would spice this thing up, since my writing of late has been (admittedly) sub-par. Then again, maybe just listening to The Tango Maureen for the nth time has skewed my view. Anyway. Would anyone like that?

Seeing as I have, as per usual (if my pessimism would have its way) nothing to write about, I'm going to go eat something in the hopes it inspires me.

I'm back. I was thinking about something, it is now completely gone. I should note, it's been the better part of a half hour, and I've written a long series of things like this, that is, things saying I'm about to get to the actual post.

I will now, as such, degrade into wierd stories, which may or may not entertain you.

I have only one set of cousins. Well, technically, I have two, but the ones on my dad's side are all old, in fact, I think I'm an Uncle. I just have no idea to whom. Point is, I was e-mailing my cousin, and she when she responded, she was like, "Sorry for long response, was with my other cousins." And it hit me like a freight train, (leaving pittsburgh at 5:30 PM, heading towards Joanesburg where another train left at 5:00 PM, the first at 130 MPH and the second at...) Woah, I think all this math homework is getting to me. Bad puns aside, I realized that most people have two sets of cousins. One on each parent's respective side of the family. I have one set that I've ever really met. I did meet the one of my cousins (who's, like, 30) at my grandpa's funeral, but we didn't talk. Yes, the funeral where my dad laughed at the saintly picture they painted of his asshole of a father (bless his heart :P). What was I going on about? Oh yes, stories.

Gather round, children, there's more sh1t to sit through. Unless you've given up on me, which I can't blame you for (really, LOOK at the last few posts. Awful.) Maybe that explains the lack of comments. To move on, (there it is again. I ALWAYS say that) I once went to Africa. No joke. It was amazing. Yes, in real life. That may be part of where my smexy british accent comes from.

See, while on the plane back from kenya (it went kenya->britain->NY), I sat next to a british lady, who I talked to for eight hours and beat at top trumps (card game. Don't make me get into it.) She claimed I hustled her at it, as well, which I remain undecided on, since I secretly was, but I didn't realize I was doing it. However, seeing as we didn't bet anything (I hope), its all good. Anyway, apparently, for three days after the trip, and said plane flight with british lady, I had a british accent. Cheerio, and all that. I didn't notice. Look, I'm sure I've told all of you all of this.

Comment, or we never see 100. O:

Por favor?

Well, shit

2009-11-09T20:00:00.000-08:00

I shan't go into specifics, I simply note that a few things I'm planning are going to require a LOT of work. I don't like work, in the slightest. One might even go so far as to say I've developed a toolkit for wasting time.

And, I note, I have.

No doubt, you'll have heard of some of these, but bear with me, I guarantee you'll find something new.

Facebook. Of course it's on here. While it really should be noted it's more of a tie between Facebook and Youtube I know, what a surprise. Still, you lose uncountable hours to the two of them. I remain adamant, however, they aren't the worst.

Making a strong case for itself as the worst time waster of all time, Twingly is perhaps the prettiest thing on this list. I myself just spent twenty minutes staring at it. It's fantastic. I swear.

Pictures of your's truly. Because really, who doesn't love to get lost in those deep, deep, mysterious eyes of mine?

For the guys only: Women.

Not truly a waste of time, but given the insane amount of time we spend on you, it comes as no surprise how awful we do in other things. (I, for example, can't stop writing a small army of blog posts for a few pretty girls. Crazy, right?)

For the women (yes, you pretty girls reading this):

God, I haven't the foggiest what you people do in your spare time. Dream of me? Stare at pictures of me? Imagine making out with me? Think of new ways to be nice to me? Imagine new ways to hide your attraction towards me? Quite the mystery, feel free to clear that up in the comments.

Fin!~

SHANNON POST

2009-11-08T20:01:00.000-08:00

I'm just paying tribute, she's the reason this damn thing was started. Didn't know that, didya?

There's nothing to report, though. Maybe I'll drop by Carondelet and say "Hi".

Blame Zak

2009-11-08T15:58:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I'm taking a side. Now that that's out of the way, I'll get to blogging.

Zak and Conor have been in a HUGE argument which sparked from a bit of criticism on conor's part, directed towards zak's blog. Zak freaked out, much nerdrage followed. He decided someone had to leave the group and called for a vote. (FYI, this all took place on FB) fast forward a bit, zero progress has been made. Usual internet fighting, no one backs down or is listening to anyone else. Standard. Enter your favorite hero. In short, I played peacemaker, zak was a douche, so I voluteered to make him happy, and leave.

Enjoy your handywork, asshole.

To happier topics:

My dad's sister has cancer. (Boo Hoo.) She's a bitch. We move on now, because we really don't like her. Like, at ALL.

To move on, I spent the weekend at Scott's, where I didn't see stacy (which made me sad), but we did watch stargate and play a bunch of video games. I especially liked watching stargate. The vegas part was epic. It was fun, seeing him, a pleasant routine from before I moved. Still need to see stacy and AJ, however.

I was locked on my roof today, when I forgot to leave part of the window open. I stomped around ,waving at people and yelling at the garage beneath me until my dad noticed and he sent Cara up to open my window. It was fun.

It's not finished until you put down a comment.

I may or may not have been planning to post today,

2009-11-06T23:29:00.000-08:00

But too much sh!t has been going on recently. So, apologies for the downbeat post, I'll throw in a bit of wit when I can.

Alrighty, I'll start close to home, what with an idiots' argument. By idiots (yes, plural) I'm referring not to zak and conor, but to zak and his ego. However, I refuse to take sides, and recognize that it couldn't have escalated the way it has without some contribution from conor. All the same, I almost completely take back what I said in the sentence previous and reckognize it's almost completely zak's fault.

Point is: Stop arguing! It pisses everyone off!

Now that that's out of the way, I watched an old movie today. Literally, 1973. Interestingly enough, it's set in 2173, which is still today the future. As you can see from the previous sentence, handling the tenses for this paragraph will be nothing short of hell. Fortunately, Danger is my middle name. (It is, in fact, Thomas, but never ask me about that. I can and will recite the proud heritage it marks). Anyway, Woody Allen was taken into surgery in 1973, but was frozen in cryo for reasons I missed completely. Then, later, he wakes up 200 years in the future-from-then (which would be 164 years from now) in 2173. Of course, the doctors who revived him did so because he isn't in the law books, but doing so was illegal. In short, he runs around, and does stuff, while falling in love with a hot chick from the 70's. Very funny.

What was I going on about? Interestingly enough, my mental checklist went like this: (No joke): Pedophilic monsters eating pretzels and nacho cheese was involved somehow stephen lynch?

What a fucked up mind I have.

Hailey DeWitt noticed me for the first time in a year, because I have a moped. Wonderful to know that my suspicions were correct, people care about my stuff. Which I can't blame them for, it's quite the thing. I mean, it's like, epic in scale. For clarity, of course, I'm talking about my !

Anywho, that's today's post. Now write a comment, or I'll put the medival weaponry in my room to good use.

I first wish to formally apologize to certain parties for the lack of cake,

2009-11-05T18:21:00.001-08:00

as it was eaten at lunch.

Now that that's out of the way, allow me to introduce you to Officer Tony Keeler.

He was the police officer who pulled me over when I was riding home on my moped, after giving all of you joyrides. I was, as you recall, describing vividly to you all that no cop cared enough to pull me over, since it was completely illegal for anyone without a permit to be riding one of those things. I said you had to be 16, to be exact. Nope, you need a permit.

However, he let me off easy, since he thought I was a nice guy. Clearly, I was too busy freaking out to be the asshat I usually am. Or mayhap two years of improv actually did pay off. In all seriousness, though, he was really nice. I was in clear violation of the vehicle code, and he let me off with barely a warning.

He's also a member of the SWAT team here in WC.

So, in short, I was pulled over by a member of the swat team because it's illegal to go more than fifteen miles an hour on an electric bicycle unless you take a driving test for a vehicle completely different, a year an a half from now. I <3 American law.

The long and short of it is no more joyrides. Suck it up, peeps.

I'm pretty sure the world is out to prove me wrong, about everything. As soon as I voice an idea that I've come up with, I'm proven wrong, nine and a half times outta ten. For example, I tell people that Chris has been a dick recently, we get along great today. I think Conor's group is a great place to be, and Stephanie turns into a jerk.

Comments keep me warm at night.

November the 4th

2009-11-04T19:21:00.000-08:00

Greatest fucking holiday ever invented, I say.

Hence the cake.

I brought a cake to school today, and handed it out to pretty girls. And Chris. And Sean. Point is, pretty girls. They got cake, I got hugs. A lot of hugs. It was fantastic. It was also, it should be noted, not my birthday. I was at home and I thought to myself,

"Self, since the girls have left, the party is over, and we already look as good as a bugatti veyron, we should bake a cake."

"Well, self," I said to myself, "Sounds like an excellent idea."

"Yes, I thought so."

"No, really. Bloody damn good."

"Oh, me, I'm to kind."

Ha ha ha, and whatnot.

In all seriousness, though, there was a cake. And there were hot chicks. And hugs from said attractive females. I daresay, life is good. Except for dudes not shutting up about it and almost getting lynched (twice, in fact), it was fantastic.

There's a new Sherlock Holmes trailer out, watch it here. Quite the film, I plan to see it.

Mayhap with someone... nah. To hell with that. Speaking of relationships, though, I spent the day with Conor's group, and pretty much everyone is hooked up. Except me. It appears, my friends, hell has frozen over. If I wasn't the godless heathen I remain, then I would yell at Jesus a bit. I am, though, so I'll yell at someone else.

Anyone interested in getting yelled at, gimme a ring.

On a final note, apologies for the short post yesterday. Comment, por favor?

Post #95

2009-11-03T17:51:00.000-08:00

Holy effing shit.

And apparently, apparently, a dozen of you people read this. Why was I not told?

I mean, I think, as Walnut Creek's resident aspiring gearhead genius insane roommateless love therapist, I should be told that so many of you people read this thing. To be honest, though, I don't even know who some of you are. However, I think we can work through this and be great friends. To help all of you wonderful, well-off, intelligent people make wonderful friends, here's a mental checklist I use to make sure my friends are wonderful people:

(Make sure the answers to all these questions are "no", and you've found a friend!)

Pedophile?

Alright.

Pretty straightforward, right?

(No offense to any pedophilic members of the audience. I just don't think we'd get along too well.)

Made a cake. Getting it out of the pan and frosting it are not easy. And not fun.

I have almost nothing to post about. But I did just joyride on my moped, and it feels like its 9:30. It's 6:30. Still. What the hell, man. Winter screws my clock up.

Starting a new book, "Fool".

Been thinking, recently, about romance. Hence the cake. I'll be giving it to pretty girls. Why? Because I can. And cake is fun. Even when you wreck it. If it keeps going this way, I'm bringing a coffin to school tommorow. And it will be for the cake. I'll be holding a service at lunch, if it goes that way. If it doesn't, a dozen or so females (some hot, some I just owe cake) and maybe a dude or two (cuz as the saying goes, bro's before hoes).

Remember, children, the cake is not a lie.

A bit of a backstory on today's post..

2009-11-02T18:29:00.001-08:00

Once upon a time, I got a book. On philosophy. In it, I remember reading about a man who theorized about society. In short, his theory can be exemplified by this: 1950's conformism led to the rebellious hippies of the 1960's, which then fused, leading to the fake hippies of the 1970's. Basically, everyone rebels one year, and then creates a compromise the next, which is then rebelled against.

As I wandered the kitchen, tonight, blowing off my math homework again, and making some dinner (a buttered bagel, to be exact), I thought, how do you rebel against society when the norm is to be rebellious? At first, I thought about tattle-tales, but then, contemplating it further, I figured the rebels wouldn't be impressed with your ultra-cool conformism. The answer hit me like a freight train: isolation. Emo peeps are trying to rebel.

Excuse me while I laugh.

I choked a bit, on my bagel. It wasn't so bad. I take that as universal confirmation that I'm right.

To move on, I recently admitted I believe two girls in my English class are hot (and not just those two) I have a feeling I'm going to regret that. Still, it's true. I like the truth.

Rode my moped again today. I still love that thing, but I'm dead-sure I can bike faster than that. Meaning I'm very slowly getting fat. I'm biking more often. Speaking of my moped, I was sitting on it, talking to halley and davey when I swore. I then remembered Davey hated that, as well as it being against his religion, and I apologized. Minutes later, I again, yelling out, "Fuck!" I then realized my error, and shouted, in fury, "damnit!" I thought that kind of thing only happened in movies.

Apparently not.

New format has been bothering me, does anyone feel the same?

I would love feedback, since I might change it. But if no one comments, I'll assume no one cares.

As such, comment! Comment!

Sometimes,

2009-11-01T19:50:00.001-08:00

You hear references to us bloggers, as if it were lame.

To be honest, it sort of is, but hell, if you people keep getting a kick out of it, I'll keep writing this "high quality literary log of the life experiences of an enlightened individual" (or "junk", which sounds less interesting but more accurate.)

So, Halloween.

Allow me to express my feelings regarding holidays.

Hallmark exploits that sense of tradition and genuine experience that bothers me so deeply.

Then again, my dad is probably to blame. It's all his fault I'm the way I am.

In short, I'm a hippocrit, because hell, I do the same things as the rest of us sheeple. I just know it's rather idiotic of us. And, admittedly, I look better than a few of my compatriots, who shall remain unnamed.

As I sit here blowing off my geometry homework at 8:00, I remember what the hell this post was about.

HALLOWEEN.

Since you people can't tell, you should know it's been 40 minutes since I wrote anything. I had McDonalds, and I feel phatty. /wrists. (If link doesn't work, watch in HQ.) Anyway.

Halloween.

Chris's party.

After nearly missing it, I managed to avoid showing up late, on my batmoped. I brought my 360 along. Other people played on it. We hung out, first, listening to music, chilling , and waiting for everyone to show up. When they all finally got there, at 7, we did the exact same thing, waiting for it to be later, before we could trick or treat. Chris and Travis (google and yahoo, respectively) dueled with lightsabers, but the three musketeers (John, Luke, and Thomas) were late, so the plan went awry (they interrupted later. It was epic, but one of the swords broke.) We trick or treated, but half the peeps (ok, 40%, or specifically mike, austin, kurtis, and someone else) stayed at chris's to scare children. I daresay I approve, but it was fun. We ran into some peeps who knew the other guys from drama, and they all got hugs. I didn't. Goddamnit.

We also ran into Carlo. He got a hug.

So did I. :D

We went back to drop off the candy, and then went over to foothill to zombie tag the crap outta the place, but some hoebag adults (both female, both dressed like hoe's), told us they called the cops. False, and we could've gone back, but the guys were scared (who can blame em, really, but still...) so we didn't. Instead, people jacked my 360 and set up in chris's mum's room, while austin, chris, alex, and I watched hot fuzz. We had fun. They did too.

I slept over.

Chris and I watched Rent. It was epic. We also inhaled massive amounts of candy to ensure we had massive sugar-induced tripped-out dreams. I didn't, it sucked.

We woke up around 10, and played sims 3 and watched mythbusters, until we went and saw law abiding citizen.

HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS THAT WAS GODDAMN AWESOME.

That's all I have to say on the subject.

Uh, what else...

Not much, in fact. I hung out with Scott. As usual, we talked about World of Warcraft and Women for about two hours, catching up, and spent the rest of the time playing video games.

HARDCORE.

I bought borderlands. Fun.

Very.

I strongly dislike this typing style where

I randomly switch lines. It bothers me.

Still, I find it good for placing emphasis. Enough grammatical crap, I have Ms. "Sweet" for that. She got all cranky friday, which sucked, because I usually look forward to spending her class unwinding. She was pretty damn cranky, so I grabbed the bathroom pass and spent ten minutes wandering the halls (I was going to go to the bathroom, but I ran into Cara, so that was that.)

And that was that.

And now,

2009-10-30T18:49:00.000-07:00

For my next trick, I fuck the shit out of my own leg, so much so the initial pain causes me to roll on the floor, not laughing.

God, it hurts.

Real post will be sunday, after chris's party. Apologies for the lateness on that one, but I think the posts I've been making nonstop will make up for that.

xo,

anthony.

Sweet Jebas Above,

2009-10-29T20:40:00.000-07:00

SOMEONE ELSE BLOGGED!

If she hadn't dumped me (and I hadn't made it worse) I would love devon, just for that. However, she did, and I did, so I don't. Close, though.

To move on, today, in the course of a single conversation, by a single incredibly hot chick,I was told I have a sexy voice, with a british accent that reminds her of obi-wan kenobi.

It was single-handedly the greatest compliment I've ever recieved.

I also got laughs out of both her and her friend, because my amazingly odd family gives me some of the greatest party stories that I have in my repertoire. To the point though, I scored major points.

Sadly enough, both of them are taken and I don't want a relationship right now, but still, they're hot.

And to avoid being called a-person-who-objectifies-women, I shall now throw their names at you: Caroline and Katie.

So there?

Also, grabbed the last part of my costume today. I'll be wearing it at school tomorrow.

It will be epic.

48 Hours - To hell with the compass

2009-10-28T18:15:00.000-07:00

(For those of you who've been here from the very beginning. Love to you all.)

As you may recall, the very first post I ever did was on a blog completely unlike this one. In fact, the only thing that's held true (aside from me writing this) is the adress in that there web bar. I recall, this was once known as East Coast Blog Project, or alternatively The East Coast Blog Project.

I remember the first post I ever did, shouting proudly to (interestingly enough) the most readers I've ever had (about eight?) Then again, I haven't the foggiest how many of you read this, though I'm reasonably assured plenty of people do. I shouted about confusing compasses, escapades with ex girlfriends, first kisses, parties, music, bets, finals, and whatever the hell I wanted. Which may be why people stopped reading it.

This blog has endured a hell of a lot, and seen more than a few people rise and fall as bloggers. Which reminds me, it never hurts to take up the reigns again, peeps.

Plenty of things have happened on this blog. I've quit (twice, but I never announced it), come back, ruined friendships, stayed up all night making ridiculously horrible posts that lack the quality I cling to, the quotable Cara Clarke and the reader favorite: Me.

It's quite alarming to me that now, after nearly 6 months, I'm approaching the 100 post mark.

Alarming.

So, in news, I got my bike back, it was thrilling, I felt beast, and can still do crazy shit on it. I'm blowing off my homework, and listening to Ain't No Rest for the Wicked. It's sweet.

Eddie wears eyeshadow. I can't get over this.